COMMEDIES 


AMATEUR  ACTING, 


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COMEDIES 


FOE 


AMATEUR   ACTING 


EDITED,   WITH  A  PREFATORY  NOTE  ON 
PRIVATE  THEATRICALS, 


BY 

J,   BRANDER  MATTHEWS. 


NEW  YORK: 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

1880. 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY. 

1879. 


A 

M.  PAUL.  FERRIER, 

TEMOIGNAGE     DE     CONFKATEENITE. 

J.   B.   M. 


4389o0 


VT) 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

PKEFATOEY  NOTE 7 


A  TEUMPED  SUIT.    By  Julian  Magnts.    '  .  .  17 

A  BAD  CAgE.    By  Julian  Magnus  and  H.  C.  Bunnee.  69 

COUETSHIP  WITH  VAEIATIONS.    By  H.  C.  Bunner.      91 
A  TEACHER  TAUGHT.     By  A.  H.  Oakes.  .  .    127 

HEREDITY.     By  Arthur  Penn.  .  .  .153 

FEANK  WYLDE.    By  J.  Bkander  Matthews.        .        .     205 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


An  aspiring  amateur  actor  once  asked  a  celebrated 
dramatic  critic,  "TVhat  did  you  think  of  the  perform- 
ance of  our  club? "  And  the  cruel  critic  is  said  to  have 
answered,  slowly  and  with  a  slight  drawl,  "  I  should 
hardly  have  called  it  a  club ;  it  seemed  to  me  more  like 
a  collection  of  sticks." 

At  another  private  performance,  it  was  either  Garrick 
or  Kean  who  exclaimed  involuntarily,  "There  is  an  act- 
or," when  the  footman  of  the  play  presented  a  letter — 
and  it  turned  out  that,  none  of  the  amateurs  being  will- 
ing to  accept  so  small  a  part,  a  professional  "  utility  man  " 
had  been  engaged  from  the  theatre.  The  player  was 
probably  not  the  equal  of  his  noble  and  gentle  associ- 
ates in  intelligence  or  in  education,  but  he  knew  his  bus- 
iness. And  it  was  his  business — for  them  it  was  only 
amusement.  Yet  many  of  them  were  doubtless  told,  and 
some  of  them  perhaps  believed,  that  they  had  only  to 
desire  success  on  the  stage  to  find  it  within  their  grasp. 
They  believed,  in  short,  that  they  could  be  actors  if 
they  chose ;  in  truth,  they  were  only  amateurs.  Charles 
Lamb  reports  Coleridge  as  having  said :  "  There  is  an 
infinity  of  trick  in  all  that  Shakspere  wrote:  I  could 
write  like  Shakspere  if  I  had  a  mind.  "    And  Lamb  adds 


8  .     PREFiTORY   NOTE. 

quietly :  "  So,  you  see,  Coleridge  only  lacked  the  mind." 
The  application  to  amateur  actors  is  obvious. 

Macready  remarks  that,  with  one  exception,  the  only 
amateur  he  had  seen  "  with  any  pretensions  to  theatrical 
talent  was  Charles  Dickens,  of  world-wide  fame."  Now 
it  was  not  jealousy,  as  some  vain  amateurs  would  fain 
believe,  which  led  Macready  to  write  thus.  He  was 
not  above  the  feeling,  as  his  journal  plainly  shows,  nor 
was  Garrick  or  Kean.  But  he  and  they,  like  all  actors 
who  have  won  fame  and  fortune  by  hard  work,  had  a 
feeling  akin  to  contempt  for  those  who  dabbled  for  mere 
amusement  in  the  art  of  acting,  to  which  they  had  given 
a  lifetime  of  study.  They  knew  that  without  long  labor 
nothing  is  likely  to  be  achieved  in  the  art  which  is,  to 
a  certain  extent  at  least,  the  union  of  all  other  arts. 
Campbell  condensed  pages  of  prose  discussion  into  a  few 
beautiful  lines : 

"  For  ill  can  Poetry  express 

Full  many  a  tone  of  thought  sublime ; 
And  Painting,  mute  and  motionless, 

Steals  but  a  glance  of  time. 
But  by  the  mighty  actor  brought, 

Illusion's  perfect  triumphs  come  ; 
Verse  ceases  to  be  airy  thought. 

And  Sculpture  to  be  dumb." 

"It  surely,"  Macready  comments,  "needs  something 
like  an  education  for  such  an  art,  and  yet  that  appear- 
ance of  mere  volition  and  perfect  ease,  which  costs  the 
accomplished  artist  so  much  time  and  toil  to  acquire,  evi- 
dently leads  to  a  different  conclusion  with  many,  or  ama- 
teur acting  would  be  less  in  vogue."  Although  the  the- 
atre is  a  place  of  amusement  for  the  lawyer  and  the  doc- 
tor, it  is  the  workshop  of  the  actor,  and  his  work  there 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  9 

is  just  as  hard  for  Mm  as  the  doctor's  or  the  lawyer's 
is  in  his  study. 

Few  would  presume  to  paint  elaborate  historical  pic- 
tures without  years  of  training — without  the  study  of 
perspective,  of  anatomy,  of  the  handling  of  colors,  of  the 
thousand  and  one  other  things  which  the  task  demands. 
Yet  we  find  not  a  few,  with  as  little  preparation  as  possi- 
ble, bravely  battling  with  Hamlet  and  Eichelieu,  and  re- 
tiring amid  the  plaudits  of  their  friends,  convinced  that 
they  only  need  a  wider  field  to  rival  Booth  or  the  memo- 
ry of  Kean  and  Kemble.  There  is  unfortunately  nothing 
in  the  art  of  acting  as  simple  as  the  sketch  of  which  the 
amateur  in  the  art  of  design  can  acquit  himself  without 
discredit.  A  sketch,  as  its  name  suggests,  may  be  the 
happy  record  of  a  fleeting  impression,  slight  and  incom- 
plete ;  but  a  play,  even  the  lightest  little  comedy,  be  it 
never  so  short,  is  a  complete  and  finished  whole,  contain- 
ing at  least  one  situation  plainly  presented  and  pushed  to 
its  logical  conclusion.  The  demand  it  makes  on  the 
actor  is  as  great  in  quality,  although  not  in  quantity,  as 
the  demand  made  by  five  acts. 

But  the  desire  for  the  drama,  and  for  taking  part  in 
it,  is  apparently  innate  in  most  of  us.  Possibly  a  passion 
for  mimicry  is  the  survival  of  a  tendency  to  monkey 
tricks  inherited  from  some  simian  ancestor  who  hung,  sus- 
pended by  his  prehensile  tail,  from  the  boughs  of  the  for- 
est primeval.  Or,  as  the  English  poet,  Mr.  Edmund  "W. 
Gosse,  has  neatly  put  it:  "The  taste  for  acting  seems  in- 
herent in  the  human  mind.  Perhaps  there  is  no  imagi- 
native nature  that  does  not  wish,  at  one  time  or  another, 
to  step  into  the  person  of  another,  to  precipitate  his  own 
intelligence  on  the  action  of  a  different  mind,  to  contem- 
plate from  the  interior,  instead  of  always  observing  the 


10  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

exterior.  To  act  a  part  is  to  widen  the  sympathy,  to  in- 
crease the  experience,  and  hence  tlie  diversion  of  pri- 
vate theatricals  has  been  held  to  be  no  small  part  of  edu- 
cation by  some  of  the  most  serious  of  men."  Amateur 
acting  has,  in  fact,  its  advantages,  needless  to  be  speci- 
fied here.  It  is  well,  therefore,  to  study  how  to  make  the 
best  use  of  these  advantages,  and  to  turn  private  theatri- 
cals to  profit,  as  best  we  may.  First  of  all,  the  amateur 
should  never  choose  a  play  which  has  been  recently  acted 
by  professional  actors.  The  amateur,  however  good, 
can  hardly  hope  to  equal  the  professional,  however  poor. 
So  he  must  needs  avoid  the  comparison.  Discretion  is 
the  better  part  of  valor,  and  private  theatricals  are  in 
themselves  a  feat  foolhardy  enough  to  be  the  better  for 
an  extra  portion  of  discretion.  They  call  for  all  the 
help  they  can  get,  so  they  should  never  neglect  the  ad- 
vantage of  novelty  in  the  chosen  play.  The  interest  the 
spectators  feel  in  the  unfolding  of  the  plot  may  thus  be 
reflected  upon  the  actors. 

In  the  second  place,  it  is  the  duty  of  the  amateur  to 
choose  as  short  a  play  as  possible.  A  piece  in  one  act  is 
far  less  likely  to  fatigue  the  spectators  than  a  piece  in  five 
acts.  And  the  shortness  is  a  great  boon  to  the  amateur, 
who  lacks  many  things  needed  in  a  long  play — the  knowl- 
edge, for  instance,  of  how  to  use  his  voice  without  fatigue. 
There  is  no  limit  to  the  variety  of  subject  and  style  to 
be  found  within  the  compass  of  one  act.  You  can  have 
comedy,  farce,  burlesque,  extravaganza,  drama,  opera, 
and  even  tragedy — and  all  in  one  brief  act.  One  of  the 
most  effective  situations  in  the  modern  drama  of  France — 
a  situation  so  striking  that  it  has  been  stolen  half  a  dozen 
times — is  to  be  found  in  a  play  in  one  act,  "  La  Joie  fait 
Peur,"  of  Mme.  de  Girardin.    Indeed,  the  French  excel 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  11 

in  the  writing  of  one-act  plays,  even  as  they  excel  just  now 
in  the  writing  of  plays  of  almost  every  kind.  Many  of 
their  lighter  comedies  in  one  act  are  admirably  adapted 
for  amateur  acting ;  the  characters  are  well  marked,  the 
dialogue  is  flowing  and  in  general  not  exacting,  and 
the  scenery  and  mounting  can  easily  be  compassed  by  a 
little  ingenuity  and  perseverance.  Indeed,  the  scene  is 
in  most  cases  laid  in  a  parlor,  with  the  costumes  of  every- 
day life.  Now  in  such  costumes,  and  m  such  scenes, 
and  in  short  plays  like  these,  the  amateur  is  seen  at  his 
best.  When  he  is  ambitious,  and  tries  to  do  "  Hamlet " 
or  "The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  or  even  "The  Hunchback"  or 
"  The  Honeymoon,"  he  is  seen  at  his  worst.  And  when 
the  amateur  is  bad,  it  is  often  because  he  is  bumptious. 
All  amateurs  are  not  bumptious,  and  all  amateurs  there- 
fore are  not  bad.  -  And  amateurs  who  are  not  bad  be- 
cause they  are  not  bumptious,  wisely  and  modestly  gauge 
their  own  strength,  and  refuse  incontinently  to  do  battle 
with  any  ponderous  monster  in  five  acts. 

It  has  been  held  by  some  wise  critics  that  the  best 
programme  for  an  amateur  performance  is  a  two-act 
comedy,  followed  by  a  one-act  farce  or  comedietta,  or 
even  burlesque ;  the  more  serious  play  of  course  coming 
first,  and  the  lighter  later— Hke  the  sweet  after  the  roast. 
Where  the  evening's  entertainment  consists  of  Mrs.  Jar- 
ley's  waxworks  or  tableaux,  together  with  a  play,  the 
play  should  always  be  given  first,  in  order  that  the  spec- 
tators shall  see  it  before  they  are  wearied  and  worn  by 
the  multitudinous  delays  which  always  accompany  a 
series  of  tableaux,  however  excellently  ordered  or  fre- 
quently rehearsed.  Although  the  experiment  is  a  rash 
one,  a  three-act  play  may  sometimes  be  substituted  by 
experienced  amateurs  for  the  two  plays,  with  a  total  of 


12  PREFATORY   NOTE. 

three  acts.  There  are  many  good  three-act  plays,  light 
and  bright,  and  well  suited  for  parlor  performance.  The 
influence  of  Mr.  Robertson,  the  author  of  "  Caste,"  and 
of  his  host  of  imitators  in  the  teacup-and-saucer  school 
of  comedy,  has  given  us  a  long  list  of  three-act  pieces  just 
about  worthy  of  amateur  acting.  There  are  unfortu- 
nately but  few  good  two-act  plays — "  Simpson  &  Co.," 
the  "Sweethearts"  of  Mr.  W.  S.  Gilbert,  and  half  a 
dozen  more.  And  equally  unfortunate  is  it  that,  while 
one-act  plays  must  be  the  staple  of  private  theatricals, 
nearly  all  the  really  good  comedies  of  that  length  have 
been  acted  so  often  that  they  are  thoroughly  hackneyed. 
As  there  is  no  professional  demand  for  pieces  in  one 
act — managers  for  some  reason  or  other  seeming  to  be 
afraid  of  them — the  amateur  demand  does  not  call  forth 
an  equal  supply.  It  is  for  amateurs,  however,  that  the 
half-dozen  one-act  plays  in  this  little  book  have  been 
prepared. 

One  of  the  comedies  which  follow,  "  A  Bad  Case,"  is 
wholly  original,  having  been  kindly  written  for  this  vol- 
ume by  my  friends  Mr.  Julian  Magnus  and  Mr.  H.  0. 
Bunner,  working  together,  as  was  the  custom  in  the  days 
of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  The  other  five  little  plays 
are  "not  translations— only  taken  from  the  French,"  as 
Sneer  smartly  phrases  it  in  "  The  Critic."  Some  of  them 
follow  the  French  originals  with  more  or  less  closeness, 
while  others  are  indebted  only  for  the  suggestion  or 
skeleton  of  the  plot.  In  a  different  shape,  three  of  the 
five  plays  have  already  appeared  in  "  Appletons'  Jour- 
nal "  and  in  "  Puck,"  but  all  have  been  carefully  revised 
for  this  volume.  The  title  of  each  of  the  French  come- 
dies thus  adapted  and  the  name  of  the  author  appear 
at  the  head  of  each  play.    The  authors  laid  under  con- 


PREFATORY  NOTE.  13 

tribution  are  M.  Eugene  Labiche,  the  leading  comic  dra- 
matist of  France ;  M.  Mario  Ucbard,  the  author  of  many 
charming  fantasies;  M.  Paul  Ferrier,  one  of  the  foremost 
of  tlie  younger  dramatic  authors  of  France  ;  the  late 
Henry  Mtirger,  the  tender  singer  of  a  Bohemia  which 
now  is  not;  and  M.  de  Bornier,  the  author  of  the  "  Fille 
de  Roland,"  almost  the  only  tragedy  which  has  of  late 
years  been  successful  in  France. 

The  piece  of  absurdity,  "  Heredity,"  is  a  simple  bit  of 
fooling  of  slight  pretensions,  and  printed  here  to  aftord 
an  opportunity  to  amateurs  of  gratifying  the  prevailing 
taste  for  light  musical  plays.  The  words  of  a  few  songs 
in  common  metres  are  given,  for  which  fitting  music  can 
easily  be  found  either  in  the  hghter  operas  or  among 
the  airs  of  the  day:  they  may  be  omitted,  and  other 
songs  inserted  at  any  point.  The  play  is  offered  merely 
as  a  framework  on  which  the  actors  may  hang  what 
they  will — a  vehicle  for  the  exhibition  of  any  special 
accomplishments,  singing,  dancing,  or  what  not,  in  which 
the  amateurs  who  attempt  it  may  be  proficient:  no 
apology  is  therefore  needed  for  its  literary  demerits. 

These  plays  may  all  be  acted  free  of  charge  by  ama- 
teurs. Professional  performers  who  may  desire  to  pro- 
duce any  of  them  will  please  communicate  with  the  editor 
through  the  publishers. 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT, 

COMEDY    IN    ONE    ACT. 
By  JULIAN  MAGNUS. 


CHARACTERS. 


M.  Carbon"el. 
Victor  Delille. 
Anatole  Garadoux. 
Cecile,  CarhoneVs  daughter, 
Annette,  chamhermaid. 


[The  Frencli  original  oi  this  play  is  "  Les  Deux.  Timides,'' 
written  by  M.  Eugene  Labiche.] 


A  TEUMPED   SUIT 


ScEKE.  Salon  in  a  conntry  house  near  Paris. 
Large  doors  at  back  su^^posed  to  open  on  a  gar- 
den. Door  L.  I.  E.  Doors  L.  2  E.  and  E.  2 
E.  Mantelpiece  E.  Clock  and  vases  on  mantel. 
Table  with  writing  materials  L.  E.,  a  small 
ornamental  table .  Small  sideboard  against  wall 
L.    Usual  furniture  of  a  handsome  salon. 

At  rise  of  curtain,  Annette,  with  hot-water  Jug  in 
her  hand,  comes  from  bach,  opens  door  L.2  E., 
and  deposits  the  jug  within. 

Annette. 
Monsieur,  there  is  the  hot  water.  [  Gomes  front.  ] 
This  M .  Anatole  Garadoux,  mademoiselle's  intend- 
ed, is  what  I  call  queer.  He  wouldn't  suit  me  at 
all.  Every  morning,  he  takes  an  hour  and  a  half 
to  dress  himself  and  polish  his  nails — that  is,  half 
an  hour  to  dress,  and  an  hour  to  trim  his  nails. 
He  has  a  case  of  little  instruments,  and  cuts,  and 
scrapes,  and  grinds,  and  rubs,  and  files,  and  pow- 
ders, and  polishes — what  a  housemaid  he'd  have 
2 


18  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

been  if  Fate  hadn't  spoiled  him  at  the  start !  I 
don't  know  what  M.  Carbonel  can  have  seen  in  him  ! 
Oh,  my  !  I  suppose  master  could  no  more  say 
"no "  to  him  than  he  can  to  any  one  about  any- 
thing. It's  absurd  that  a  man  of  his  age  should 
have  no  more  will  than  a  baby.  He  hasn't  any 
more  firmness  than  jelly  in  the  sunshine  !  His 
daughter  makes  up  for  him,  though.  With  all  her 
sweetly  innocent,  yielding  manner,  she  has  her 
own  way  when  she  wants  it.  [Cecile  is  heard 
smging  in  the  garden.]  She's  coming  back  from 
her  morning  walk. 

Cecile,  entering  at  hach  with  a  lot  of  cut  flow- 
ers i7i  her  apron. 
Annette,  bring  the  vases. 

Akkette,  taking  vases  to  table. 
Yes,    mademoiselle.      [They  busy  themselves 
arrangi7ig  the  flowers .]     He's  getting  up .    I  have 
just  taken  in  the  hot  water. 

Cecile. 
To  whom  ? 

Aknette. 
To  M.  Graradoux. 

Cecile. 
What  does  that  matter  to  me  ? 

Ankette. 
Have  you  noticed  his  nails  ? 


A  TRUMPED   SUIT.  19 

Cecile,  curtly. 
No! 

Anisette. 
Not  noticed  his  nails  !    "Why  they're  as  long 
as  that.    But  the  other  day,  in  trying  to  open  a 
window,  he  broke  one. 

Cecile,  ironically. 
Poor  nail  ! 

Annette. 
To  be  sure,  it  will  grow  again — in  time  ;  but 
wasn't  he  cross  ?    Since  then,  he  has  always  rung 
for  me  to  open  the  window. 

Cecile. 
I  have  already  had  to  ask  you  not  to  be  for  ever 
talking  to  me  about  M.  Garadoux — it  is  disagree- 
able !  it  annoys  me  ! 

Annette,  astonished. 
Your  intended  ! 

Cecile. 

Intended,  yes ;   but   intentions   don't  always 
lead  to — marriage.     Where  is  papa  ? 

[^Replaces  vase  on  mantel. 

Annette. 
In  his  study ;  he's  been  there  more  than  an 
hour  with  a  gentleman  who  came  from  Paris — 


20  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Cecile,  qidchly. 
From  Paris  ?     A   young  man  —  a  lawyer  ? 
Blond — very  quiet  manner— blue  eyes  ? 

Annette. 
No.     This  one  is  dark,  lias  mustaches — and  a 
beard  like  a  blacking-brush. 

Cecile,  disappointed. 
Ah! 

Annette. 

I  fancy  he's  a  traveler  for  a  wine-merchant. 
Your  father  didn't  want  to  see  him,  but  he  man- 
aged to  squeeze  through  the  door  with  his  bottles. 

Cecile. 
Why  doesn't  papa  send  him  away  ? 

Annette. 
M.  Carbonel  ?    He's  too  timid  to  do  that. 

[Places  other  vase  on  mantel, 

Cecile. 
I  am  afraid  he  is. 

Oakbonel,  speahing  outside  R.  2  E. 
Monsieur,  it  is   I  who  am  indebted  to   you 
delighted!      {^Enters    with    tiuo    small    dot- 
tles.']   I  didn't  want  it,  but  I  have  bought  four 
casks. 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  21 

Cecile. 
You  have  bought  more  wine  ? 

Ankette. 
The  cellar  is  full.  [Goes  up, 

Caebonel. 
I  know  it ;  but  bow  could  I  say  "  no "  to  a 
man  wbo  was  so  nicely  dressed — who  had  just  come 
twelye  miles — on  purpose  to  offer  me  his  wine  ? 
In  fact,  he  put  himself  to  great  inconvenience  to 
come  here. 

Cecile. 

But  it's  you  he  has  inconvenienced. 

Ankette,  at  back. 
The  great  point  is,  is  the  wine  good. 

Oaebonel. 
Taste  it. 

Ai^KETTE,  after  pouring  some  into  glass  which 
she  tahes  from  sideboard,  drinhs,  and  utters  cry 
of  disgust. 

OARBOlsrEL. 

That's  exactly  how  it  affected  me.  I  even 
ventured  to  say  to  him — with  extreme  politeness 
— "  Your  wine  seems  to  me  a  little  young  "  ;  but  I 
was  afraid  he  was  beginning  to  feel  vexed — so  I 
took  four  casks — only  four  ! 


22  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Annette,  talcing  the  samples^ 
Well,  I'll  use  these  for  salads.     \^Bell  heard  L.  ] 
That's  M.  Garadoux  ringing  for  me  to  ojoen  his 
window.  [Exit  L.  2  E, 

Carbonel. 
What !  has  M.  Garadoux  only  just  got  up  ? 

Cecile. 

Yes,  he  never  appears  before  ten  o'clock. 

Oarbonel. 
That  doesn't  astonish  me.     Every  evening  he 
seizes  my  paper,  as  soon  as  it  is  left,  and  takes  it 
to  his  own  room.     I  believe  he  reads  himself  to 
sleep. 

Cecile. 

And  you  don't  see  it  ? 

Carbonel. 
Oh,  yes,  I  do — the  next  day. 

Cecile. 
This  is  too  bad. 

Carbonel. 
I  own  I  miss  it ;  and  if  you  could  manage  to 
give  him  a  hint — without  its  seeming  to  come  from 
me — 

Cecile. 

I'll  give  him  a  hint  he  can't  misunderstand. 


,  a  trumped  suit.  23 

Oaebonel. 
What !  you're  not  afraid  ? 

Cecile,  firmly. 
Afraid — of  a  man  who  wants  to  be  my  husband  ? 
Should  I  have  agreed  to  think  about  him,  if  I  was  ? 

Carbokel. 
I  admire  your  spirit — and  you  only  eighteen. 
You're  braver  than  I.     The  visit  of  this  stranger 
worries  and  bothers  me. 

Cecile. 
Poor  papa ! 

Carbonel. 

Thank  Heaven,  it  will  soon  be  over  ! 

Cecile. 
What? 

Carbonel. 

Why,  all  these  visitors  with  their  eternal  offers. 
They  make  me  ill.  What  can  you  expect  ?  I 
have  passed  my  life  in  the  Archive  Office — in  the 
Secret  Department.  No  one  was  ever  admitted 
there.  That  exactly  suited  me.  Now  I  can't  bear 
to  talk  to  people  I  don't  know. 

Cecile. 
Then  you  know  M.  Garadoux  well  ? 

Carbokel. 
Not  at  all ;  my  lawyer  recommends  him  high- 


24  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

ly,  though,  to  be  sure,  he's  only  lately  been  my 
lawyer.  M.  Garadoux  presented  himself  boldly — 
we  talked  for  two  hours — that  is,  I  with  difficulty 
managed  to  get  in  four  words .  He  put  questions, 
and  answered  himself — and,  you  see,  I  felt  quite 
at  my  ease  with  him. 

Cecile. 
What  were  the  four  words  you  did  get  in  ? 

Carbokel. 
I  promised  him  your  hand — at  least,  he  says 
so.     Thereupon,  he  installed  himself  here — that 
was  a  fortnight  ago  ;  and  to-day  we  have  to  go  to 
the  mayor's  office  to  publish  the  bans. 

Cecile. 
To-day  ? 

Carbonel. 
He  fixed  to-day — he  settles  everything. 

Cecile. 
But,  papa — 

Carbonel. 
Well? 

Cecile. 
Do  you  like  this  M.  Garadoux  ? 

Carbonel. 
He  seems  a  very  nice  young  man — and  he  can 
talk  by  the  hour  together. 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  25 

Cecile. 
He's  a  widower ;  and  I  don't  want  a  second- 
hand husband. 

Caebokel. 
But— 

Cecile. 
Never  mind  your  hut.   Listen  to  my  hut,  which 
is,  Suppose  another  suitor  should  appear  ? 

Oakboi^el. 
"What !    Another  ! !    More  talking ;  more  in- 
quiries— ^begin  all  oyer  again  ?  No  !  No  ! !  No  ! ! ! 

[Sits  L.  of  tahle. 

Cecile. 
The  one  I  mean  is  not  a  stranger — you  know 
him  well — M.  Victor  Delille,  a  lawyer — 

Cakbonel. 
A  lawyer  !    I  never  could  bear  to  talk  to  a 
lawyer. 

Cecile. 

He  is  godmamma's  nephew. 

Carbonel,  testily. 
I  don't  know  him.     I  have  never  seen  him. 

Cecile. 
Oh,  papa !    I  thought  godmamma  had  writ- 
ten to  you — 


26  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Carbonel. 
That  was  three  months  ago — before  Garadoux 
came.     It  was  only  a  faint  suggestion  ;  and  since 
this  Garadoux  presented  himself,  I  don't  belieye 
the  other  has  ever  thought  of  you. 

Oecile. 
Oh,  3^es,  papa.     I  am  sure  he  has. 

Carbonel. 

Oh,  indeed  !    So  you  are  sure,  are  you  ?    Come 
here.     Tell  me  frankly  what  has  he  said  to  you. 

Cecile,  sitting  on  his  hnee. 
Nothing,  papa ! — that  is,  nothing  about  love. 
But  on  the  day  of  aunt's  birthday  dinner — when 
you  wouldn't  go,  you  know — 

Carbonel. 
I  don't  like  parties — that  is,  when  there  are 
people  there. 

Cecile. 

I  was  sitting  next  M.  Delille— and  he  kept 
blushing,  and  doing  awkward  things. 

Carbonel,  aside. 
I  can  feel  for  him.    [Aloud]  What  did  he  do  ? 

Cecile, 
He  broke  a  wine-glass. 


A  TRUMPED   SUIT.  27 

OAKBOi^EL. 

That's  a  stupidity — not  a  symptom. 

Cecile. 
Afterward,  wlien  I  asked  him  for  water,  he 
passed  me  the  sait-cellar. 

Carbojiel. 
Perhaps  he  is  deaf. 

Cecile. 

Oh,  no,  papa,  he  is  not  deaf ;  he  was  nervous. 

Carbonel. 

Well  ? 

Cecile. 
Well,  when  a  young  man — a  lawyer — accus- 
tomed to  speak  in  public — gets  neryous  because 
he  is  near  a  young  lady,  why  [lowering  her  eyes] 
— there  must  be  some  cause. 

Carbokel. 
And  this  cause  must  have  been  love  for  you  ? 

Cecile,  rising. 
Oh,  papa,  suppose  it  was  ! 

Carbokel,  rising. 
If  it  had  been,  he  would  have  come  here.     He 
has  not  come,  so  it  was  not  love  ;  perhaps  it  was 


28  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

dyspepsia  !    I  am  yery  glad  lie  didn't  appear,  for, 
as  matters  stand  with  M.  Garadoux — 

An:N'ETTE,  entering  at  hach. 
The  postman  just  left  this  letter,  monsieur. 

[Exit. 
Cecile,  quichly, 
Godmamma's  writing  ! 

Carbokel. 
Don't  get  excited.  Another  invitation,  I  sup- 
pose. Why  can't  people  leave  me  alone  ?  [Reads] 
"  Dear  M.  Carbonel :  Allow  me  to  present  to 
you  M.  Victor  Delille,  my  nephew,  about  whom 
I  spoke  to  you  some  months  ago.  He  loves  our 
dear  Cecile — " 

Cecile,  joyfully. 
I  knew  he  did  !    What  did  I  tell  you,  papa  ? 

Caebonel. 
Here's  a  pretty  dilemma  !     [Reads]  "His  ar- 
dent desire  is  to  obtain  her  hand.     I  had  hoped 
to  accompany  him  to-day,  but  illness  prevents; 
and  he  will  therefore  go  to  you  alone." 

Cecile. 
He  is  coming  here  ! 

Carbokel. 
I  shall  go  out  at  once. 


A  TRUMPED   SUIT.  29 

Cecile,  reproachfully. 

Oh,  papa ! 

Carbonel. 

What  can  I  do  ?  I  have  given  my  word  to  M. 
Garadoux.  You  phmge  me  into  unheard-of  dif- 
ficulties. 

Oecile. 

I'll  extricate  you,  papa  ! 

Oaebokel. 
How  ?    What  am  I  to  do,  badgered  and  bul- 
lied by  two  suitors  ? 

Cecile. 
You  sha'n't  have  two  ;  you  must  give  M.  Gar- 
adoux his  dismissal. 

Carbonel. 
I !    [Seeing  Garadoux  entering  from  his  room.] 
Hush  !  here  he  is  ! 

Garadoux. 
Good  morning,  dear  papa  ! 

Oarbonel,  bowing. 
Monsieur  Garadoux — 

Garadoux,  bowing  to  Cecile. 
My  charming  fiancee,  you  are  as  fresh  this 
morning  as  a  bunch  of  cherries. 


30  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Cecile. 
A  pretty  compHment  to  my  freshness — on  other 
mornings.  \^81ie  goes  to  table. 

CAEBOjq^EL,  aside. 
She's  in  too  great  a  hurry.     {Aloucl]  My  dear 
M.  Garadoux,  have  you  slept  well  ? 

Gaeadoux. 
Excellently.    [To  Cecile]  I  am  up  a  little  late, 
perhaps. 

Cecile. 

I  did  not  reproach  you. 

Oaebonel. 
The  fact  is,  you  don't  like  the  country  in  the 
morning.     [QtiicJcly]  I  don't  mean  to  find  fault. 

Gaeadoux. 
I  ?  Where  is  there  such  a  magnificent  picture 
as  Nature's  awakening  ?  The  flowers  expand  their 
petals  ;  the  blades  of  grass  raise  their  heads  to  sa- 
lute the  rising  sun.  [He  looks  at  Ids  nails.']  The 
butterfly  dries  his  wings,  still  moist  with  the  kiss- 
es of  night.  [Draivs  a  small  instricment  from  Ms 
pochet  and  begins  to  Ule  a  nail.  ] 

Cecile,  aside. 
He's  making  this  a  dressing-room. 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  31 

Garadoux,  continuing  to  use  file. 
The  busy  bee  commences  Ms  visits  to  the  rose, 
while  the  sweet-voiced  linnet — 

Cecile,  aside. 
Too   much   natural   history  !      { Brusquely  1 
What  news  was  there  in  the  paper  ? 

Gaeadoux. 
What  paper  ? 

Oecile. 
Last  night's — you  took  it— papa  wasn't  able  to 
get  a  look  at  it. 

Caebonel,  aside. 
What  nerve  she  has  ! 

Gaeadoux. 
A  thousand  pardons,  M.  Carbonel.     I  took  it 
inadvertently. 

Caebonel. 
It  is  not  the  slightest  consequence. 

Gaeadoux,  taking  im])er  from  his  pocket,  offers 
it  to  Garlonel. 
I  haven't  even  unfolded  it. 

Oaebonel. 
Oh,  if  you  haven't  read  it,  pray  keep  it,  M. 
Garadoux. 


32  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Gakadoux,  offering  it. 
No,  I  beg  3'ou  will — 

Caebokel,  refusing  it, 
I  entreat  you  to  keep  it. 

Gakadoux. 
Since  you  insist !     [Puts  it  hack  in  pocket, 
tJien  goes  to  glass  over  mantel  and  adjusts   Ms 
cravat.'] 

Caebonel,  aside. 

I  should  have  liked,  though,  to  see  how  stocks 
were  going. 

Akkette,  entering,  hands  card. 
This  gentleman  wants  to  see  you. 

Cecile,  coming  quickly  to  Carlonel. 
A  gentleman  !     {^Looking  at  card.]     'Tis  he  ! 

Carbonel,  low. 

The  devil !    And  the  other  one  here  !    What 
is  to  be  done  ? 

Cecile,  loio. 
You  can't  send  him  away.     {Loud  to  Annette] 
Ask  him  to  walk  up  !  {Exit  Annette. 

Gakadoux. 
A  visitor  !    Don't  forget,  father-in-law,  that 
we  have  to  be  at  the  mayor's  at  noon. 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  33 

Caeboi^el. 
Certainly  !    Of  course  !     [Lotv  to  Cecile]  Get 
Mm  out  of  here. 

Cecile. 

"Will  you  accompany  me,  M.  Garadoux  ? 

Garadoux. 

Delighted— where  ? 

Cecile. 
To  water  the  flowers. 


Gaeadoux,  c 
The  sun  is  terribly  hot. 


Cecile. 
The  more  reason  not  to  keep  the  flowers  wait- 
ing.    Come  ! 

Garadoux. 
Dehghted  ! 

Cecile,  aside. 
I'll  make  him  break  another  nail ! 

[Exeunt  Cecile  and  Garadoux,  at  lack. 


Carboi^el, 

Was  there  ever  such  a  situation  ?    One  suitor 

accepted— staying  here— and  the  other— a  lawyer, 

too— how  he  will  talk— he's  sure  to  make  me  say 

what  I  don't  mean.     I  know  what  I  am— he'll 

3 


34  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

force  me  to  say  "  Yes  " — and  tlien  the  other.    Oh, 
if  two  affirmatives  would  only  make  a  negative  ! 

Annette,  announcing  at  lack, 
M.  Delille.  {Exit  R, 

Caebokel,  frigJitenecl. 
"What  shall  I  say  to  him  ?     [Loolcs   at   Ms 
clothes.  ]      Ah  !     Can't  receiye  him  in  a  dressing- 
gown.     I'll  go  and  put  on  a  coat. 

[Disappears  L.  L  E.,  as  Delille  enters  at  dach, 

Delille,  coming  forward  very  timidly,  hows  low. 

Monsieur  —  madame  —  I  have  the  honor — 
[Looks  round.]  What,  no  one  !  How  glad  I  am  ! 
I  do  hate  to  meet  any  one.  I  positively  shudder 
at  the  idea  of  seeing  this  father,  who  knows  I 
want  to  take  away  his  daughter.  [  Wannly]  How 
I  love  her  !  Ever  since  that  dinner  when  I  broke 
a  glass,  I  have  been  coming  to  this  place  every 
day  to  ask  for  her  hand.  I  come  by  the  mid-day 
train,  but  I  can't  summon  up  courage  to  ring  the 
bell,  and  I  go  back  by  the  next.  Once  I  felt  bold 
enough  to  ring,  but  then  I  ran  away  and  hid 
round  the  corner.  If  this  had  been  going  to  con- 
tinue, I  should  have  bought  a  commutation  ticket. 
To-day  I  am  brave  ;  I  have  crossed  the  threshold 
— without  my  aunt,  who  was  to  have  brought  me, 
and  now  all  alone  I  am  going —   [Erightened]  Can 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  35 

I  do  it  ?  Is  it  possible  to  say  to  a  man  one  doesn't 
know,  '^Giye  me  your  daughter  to  take  to  my 
house,  and — "  [Shuddering.}  jN"o  !  one  can't  do 
such  things — at  least,  I  can't.  [Suddenly}  If  I 
ran  away  !  'No  one  has  seen  me  !  I  will — I  can 
return  to-morrow — ^by  the  same  train. 

[About  to  exit  bach,  meets  Cecile  entering, 

Delille,  stopping. 
Too  late  ! 

Cecile,  pretending  surprise. 
I'm  not  mistaken  !    M.  Victor  Delille. 

Delille,  nervous. 
Yes,  monsieur — that  is,  mademoiselle — 

Cecile. 
To  what  chance  do  we  owe  the  honor  of  this 
call? 

Delille. 

A  mere  chance — I  was  going  by — I  was  look- 
ing for  a  notary — I  saw  a  bell — and  I  rang  it — it 
was  a  mistake.  [Boiuing.  ]  Mademoiselle,  I  have 
the  honor  to  say  good-by. 

Cecile. 
Pray  wait ;  my  father  will  be  delighted  to  see 
you. 

Delille. 

Don't  disturb  him — some  other  time — 


36  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Oecile. 
No,  no  !     He  would  scold  me.     Won't  you  sit 
down  ? 

Delille,  falling  into  chair. 
Thank  you — I'm  not  tired.      \^Pulls  gloves  on 
and  off  quickly,'] 

Cecile,  aside. 
Poor  fellow  !     How  nervous  he  is  ! 

Delille,  aside,      ^ 
How  pretty  she  is  ! 

Cecile. 
Will  you  excuse  me  if  I  fill  my  sugar-bowl  ? 
{^Goes  to  sideboard,  where  there  is  hox  of  sugar 
and  bowl] 

Delille,  rising. 
If  I  am  in  your  way,  allow  me  to — 

Cecile. 
Not  at  all — if  I  might  venture,  I  would  ask 
you— 

Delille. 

What,  mademoiselle  ? 

Cecile. 
To  hold  the  bowl  for  me. 


A  TRUMPED   SUIT.  37 

Delille. 
Enchanted  !      [^He  takes  howl]       [Aside]  If 
the  father  found  iis  like  this  !    I  must  say  some- 
thing to  her.      I  mustn't   seem  like   an   idiot. 
[Aloud]  Mademoiselle  Cecile  ! 

Cecile,  encouragingly. 
Monsieur  Victor  ? 

Delille,  hesitatingly. 
Your  sugar  is  very  white  ! 

Cecile. 
Like  all  sugars — 

Delille,  tenderly. 
Oh,  no  !    Not  like  other  sugars. 

Cecile,  aside. 
Why  does  he  want  to  talk  about  sugar  ? 

Delille,  aside. 
I  have  been  too  bold  !     [Aloud]    Is  it  cane 
or  beet-root  ? 

Cecile. 

I  don't  know  the  difference. 

Delille. 
There's  a  great  deal !    One  is— much  more  so 
than  the  other — 


38  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Cecile,  looTcing  at  Mm  with  wonder. 
All !  thank  you.     [Takes  howl  from  Mm  and 
goes  to  sideioard,'] 

Delille,  aside. 
Why  the  deuce  did  I  go  out  of  my  depth  in 
sugars  ? 

Cecile,  seeing  Carhonel  entering  L. 

Here  is  papa ! 

Delille. 

Oh,  Heavens  ! 

Cecile. 
Papa,  this  is  M.  Victor  Delille.     [The  two  men 
are  at  opposite  corners  of  the  stage,  and  do  not 
dare  to  look  at  one  another.'] 

CARBOisrEL,  aside. 
Here  goes  !      [Bowing.  ]      Monsieur  —  I  am 
very  glad — certainly — 

Delille. 
It  is  I — monsieur — who — am — certainly — 

Carbonel,  stealiiig  a  glance  at  him,  aside. 
He  looks  very  determined  ! 

Delille,  aside. 
I  wish  I  had  got  away  ! 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  39 

Oecile. 
You  gentlemen  have  doubtless  something  to 
say  to  one  another.     I  will  leave  you. 

Caebonel  and  Delille. 

No,  no  ! 

Oecile. 

I.  must  attend  to  my  household  duties.  [To 
Delille]  Sit  down!  [To  Carionel]  Sit  down! 
[TJiei/  both  sit  opposite  each  other.]  [Low  to  De- 
lille] Be  brave  !     [Low  to  Carlonel]  Be  brave  ! 

[Exit  L.  L  E, 

Carbokel,  aside. 
Here  we  are  alone,  and  he  seems  quite  at  his 


Delille,  aside. 
I    never    was    so   nervous.      [Aloud]    Mon- 
sieur— 

Caebonel. 

Monsieur —     [Aside]  I  know  he's  going  to  ask 
for  her. 

Delille. 

You  have  no  doubt  received  a  letter  from  my 

aunt. 

Carbonel. 

A  charming  lady !    How  is  she  ? 

Delille. 

Very  well,  indeed — that  is — except  her  rheu- 
matism, which  has  kept  her  in  bed  for  a  week. 


40  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Carbokel. 

That's  all  right — I  mean  I  hope  it  will  be, 
soon. 

Delille. 
I  trust  so,  with  warmer  weather — 

Carboi^el,  quichly. 
My  barometer  is  going  up. 

Delille. 
And  mine,  too — how  strange  that  our  barom- 
eters should  agree  so  well ! 

Carbonel. 
It  will  burn  up  my  roses,  though. 

Delille. 
You  are  fond  of  roses  ? 

Carbonel. 
Passionately.     I  cultivate  them  quite  exten- 
sively. 

Delille. 
So  do  I. 

Carbonel. 
That's  all  right.      [^Aside\  So  far  we  get  on 
well. 

Delille,  aside. 
He  seems  jovial  !    Suppose  I —     [Aloud,  ris- 


A   TRUMPED   SUIT.  41 

ing^  very  nervous]    In  lier  letter — my  aunt — in- 
formed you  that  I  was  coming — 

Caebonel,  aside,  rising. 
He's  going  to  do  it !     {Aloud]  Well— you  see 
— yes — ^bnt  she'  did  not  clearly  indicate  the  rea- 
son that — 

Delille. 

What !  she  did  not  write  that  I — 

Caebonel. 
No,  not  a  word  about  that. 

'Delille,  aside. 
The  deyil !    Why,  then— oh,  this  makes  it  ten 
times  worse !     {Aloud,  luith  great  effort]  Mon- 
sieur— I  tremble  while  I  ask — 

Caebonel,  trying  to  turn  the  conversation. 

What  a  sun  !     Hot  as  fire  !    It  will  kill  the 

roses. 

Delille. 

I  put  shades  over  mine.     I  tremble  while  I 
ask  the  favor — 

Oaebonel,  as  before. 
Will  you  have  some  wine  ? 

Delille. 
No,  thank  you  !    I  was  about  to  ask  the  favor 
of— 


42  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Cakbokel,  as  defore. 
So  you,  too,  cultivate  roses  ? 

Delille. 
Yes  !    Last  year  I  exhibited  the  "  Standard  of 
Marengo. " 

Cakboxel. 

And  I  the  ^^  Triumph  of  Avranches,"  three 
inches  in  diameter.     Have  you  it  ? 

Delille. 
No.     Monsieur,  I  tremble  while  I — 

Carbonel,  offering  smiff-hox. 
Will  you  take  a  pinch  ? 

Delille. 
No,  thank  you.     I  tremble  while  I  ask  you 
for — 

Carbonel,  firmly. 
Wliat? 

Delille,  disconcerted. 
For  one — who — a  graft  of  the  "Triumph." 

CARBOisrEL,  qiiichly. 
What !    Certainly,  my  dear  young  friend,  with 
the  gi'eatest  pleasure —  [Going, 

Delille. 
But,  monsieur — 


A  TRUMPED   SUIT.  43 

Caebokel. 
I'll  put  it  in  moss  for  you  myself.         [Going, 

Delille,  aside. 
He  won't    stay.     [Aloud]   Monsieur    Carbo- 
nel — 

Caebokel,  at  door. 
With  the  greatest  of    pleasure— delighted— 
[Aside]  I  got  out  of  that  well !       [Exit  at  lack. 


Delille. 

d 
beast !  fool !  ass  ! 


He's  gone— and  I  hayen't  said  a  word.     Idiot ! 


Cecile,  entering  gayly,  at  lack. 
Well,  Monsieur  Victor ! 

Delille,  aside,  mournfully. 
Now  it's  her  turn  ! 

Cecile. 
Have  you  had  a  talk  with  papa  ? 

Delille. 
Yes,  mademoiselle — 

Cecile. 
And  are  you  satisfied  with  your  interview  ? 


44  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR   ACTING. 

Delille. 
Enchanted  !    The  best  proof  is  that  he  has 
gone  to  fetch  what  I  asked  for — 

Oecile,  naively. 
Then  he's  looking  for  me  ? 

Delille. 
No,  not  you  ;  some  grafts  of  roses. 

Cecile,  ast07iis7ied. 
Grafts  ! 

Delille. 

Yes,  mademoiselle — for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
we  talked  about  nothing  but  roses. 

Cecile. 
But  why  was  that  ? 

Delille. 
Because — because  I  am  the  victim  of  a  dread- 
ful infirmity — I  am  timid. 

Cecile. 
You,  too  ? 

Delille. 
Timid  to  the  verge  of  idiocy  !  Can  you  be- 
lieve it  ?  I  could  sooner  kill  myself  than  utter 
aloud  what  I  have  kept  saying  to  myself  these 
three  months  past — and  that  is,  that  I  love  you  ! 
that  I  adore  you  !  that  you  are  an  angel — 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  45 

Cecile. 
It  seems  to  me  you  say  that  very  well. 

Delille,  astonished  at  Ids,  audacity. 
Have  I  said  anything  ?  Oh,  forgive  me  !  Don't 
think  of  it  any  more.    I  didn't  mean  to — it  slipped 
out— I'll  never  do  it  again — I  swear — 

Cecile,  quickly. 
Don't  swear  !  I  do  not  require  an  oath  !  You, 
timid,  a  lawyer  !    How  do  you  contrive  to  plead  ? 

Delille. 
I  don't.      I  tried  once,  and  shall  never  try 
again. 

Cecile. 
Tell  me  about  it. 

Delille. 
My  aunt  got  me  a  client.     Heaven  knows,  I 
never  sought  him.     He  was  a  very  passionate  man, 
and  had  once  struck  his  wife  with  a  stick. 

Cecile,  reproachfully. 
And  you  defended  the  wretch  ? 

Delille. 
Wait  till  you  hear  how  I  defended  him  !    The 
great  day  came.     All  my  friends  were  in  court. 
I  had  prepared  a  brilliant  speech.     I  knew  it  by 


40  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

heart.  All  at  once  there  was  an  awful  silence. 
The  President  bowed  to  me,  and  said  courteously, 
*'Will  the  counsel  proceed  ?"  I  rose — I  tried  to 
speak — I  couldn't  utter  a  sound.  Every  eye  was 
on  me — the  President  invited  me  with  a  gesture 
to  go  on — my  client  called,  ^^ Speak!  speak!" 
At  last  I  made  an  almost  superhuman  effort — 
something  rattled  in  my  throat — then  it  seemed 
to  burst,  and  I  stammered  out,  '^  Messieurs,  I  so- 
licit for  the  accused — the  utmost  severity  of  the 
law."    Then  I  fell  back  into  my  seat. 

Cecile. 
And  your  client  ? 

Delille. 
Got  what  I  solicited — six  months  in  prison. 

Cecile. 
He  deserved  them. 

Delille. 

Yes,  it  was  too  little  for  what  he  made  me  suf- 
fer. I  didn't  take  my  fee — it's  true  he  forgot  to 
offer  it.  And  now  that  you  know  my  infirmity, 
tell  me,  how  is  it  possible  for  me  to  ask  your  father 
for  your  hand  ? 

Cecile. 

/  can't  ask  him  to  give  it  you. 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  47 

Delille,  naively. 
1^0,  I  suppose  that  wouldn't  do.     Well,  we 
must  wait  till  aunt  gets  better. 

Cecile,  qidchly. 
Wait !     Don't  you  know,  papa  has  another 

offer  ? 

Delille,  overwhelmed. 

Another ! 

Cecile. 

Yes,  and  he's  here,  and  he  has  papa's  promise. 

Delille. 
Good  gracious  !    So  I  have  to  face  a  struggle, 

a  rival. 

Cecile. 

But  I  don't  love  him  ;  and  if  I  am  forced  to 
marry  him,  I  shall  die. 

Delille. 
Die  !  You  !     [Boldly}  Where  is  your  father  ? 
Send  him  to  me. 

Cecile. 

You  will  ask  him  ? 


Delille, 
I  will ! 

Cecile. 

I'll  fetch  him.    [Going.}    Courage  !  Courage  ! 

[Exit  at  hack. 


48  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Delille,  alone. 
Yes,  I  will  ask  liim  ;  that  is,  not  directly — I'll 
write.  I  write  a  very  hold  hand.  [Sitting.^  This 
is  the  thing — a  letter  does  not  blush  and  tremble. 
[  Writes  rapidly  as  he  speaks.  ]  I  did  not  know  I 
was  so  eloquent.  {^Folds  and  addresses  note']  ''  A. 
Monsieur  Carbonel."  [  Uncojisciously puts  a  stamp 
071.]     There  !    Now  it's  all  right. 

Carbonel,  outside. 
Keep  them  fresh.     He'll  take  them  soon. 

Delille,  frightened. 
He,  already  !    I  can't  give  him  this.     Ah,  I'll 
put  it  in  front  of  the  clock.     [Puts  letter  before 
clock  and  returns  C] 

Carbonel,  entering  at  back  and  coming  R. 
My  dear  friend,  your  grafts  are  ready. 

Delille. 
Thank  you  !    [Aside]  He  has  not  seen  C6cile. 
[Aloud]  On  the  clock.    [Points.] 

Carbonet.. 
What  did  you  say  ? 

Delille. 
A  letter.     I'll  return  for  the  answer. 

[Exit  quickly  at  back. 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  49 

Caebokel. 
On  the  clock — a  letter  !     [^He  talces  it,^ 

Cecile,  entering  L.  I.  E. 
Oh,  papa,  I've  been  looking  for  you.     [^Aston- 
ished.]     But  where  is  M.  Delille  ? 

Oaebokel. 

Just  gone,  but  it  seems  he  has  written  to  me — 
on  the  clock. 

Oecile. 
What? 

Caebon'el. 
Yes,  it  is  for  me — see,  he  has  put  a  stamp  on. 
[Reads]  "  Monsieur,  I  love  your  daughter  ;  no, 
I  do  not  love  her — " 

Cecile. 
Eh? 

Caebon"el,  continuing, 

"I  adore  her — "     [To  Cecile^  Go  away,  you 
must  not  hear  this  ! 

Cecile. 
But  I  know  it,  papa. 

Caebojtel. 
Oh,  I  suppose  that  makes  it  all  right.     [Read- 
ing] "I  adore  her."     [Speahing]    How  did  you 
know  it  ? 

Cecile. 
He  told  me. 
4 


50  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Carbonel. 
Very  improper  on  his  part. 

Cecile. 
Go  on  !  what  else  does  he  say  ? 

Carbonel,  reading. 
''  You  can  offer  me  but  two  things — her  hand 
or  the  grave."     [8pealci7ig']  Since  he  gives  me  a 
choice,  I'll  let  him  have  the  grave. 

Cecile. 
Oh,  dear  papa,  when  yon  say  you  love  me  so 
much  !     [^Kisses  him.] 

Carbonel,  aside. 
Lucky  Delille  !     [Aloud]  But  what  can  I  say 
to  Garadoux  ? 

Cecile. 

Yes,  I  see — you're  too  timid — 

Carbokel. 
Timid  !    I !    Nonsense  !    One  man's  as  good 

as  another. 

Cecile. 

Certainly — if  you  except  Garadoux  ! 

Carbonel. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  him,  and  I  know  exactly 
what  to  say  to  him.     By  the  way,  what  ought  I 
to  say  ? 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  51 

Cecile. 
Don't  say  anything;   follow  M.  Delille's  ex- 
ample— write. 

Cabbokel. 

I  will.  \^Sits.'\  Here  is  a"  very  firm  pen, 
[Writing]  "Dear  monsieur  — "  [To  Cecile] 
What  next  ? 

Cecile,  dictating, 

^^  Your  suit  flatters — " 

Cakbokel,  writing, 
"And  honors  me — ''    [Speaking]  Let  us  soft- 
en the  blow. 

Cecile,  dictating. 

"  But  I  regret  it  is  impossible  to  accord  you 
my  daughter's  hand." 

Cakbokel,  writing, 
"Daughter's  hand."    [SpeaMng]  That  isn't 
enough.     I  must  give  a  reason. 

Cecile. 
I'll  giye  one;  go  on.  [Dictating]  "I  beg  you 
to  believe  that,  in  writing  this,  I  only  yield  with 
the  greatest  reluctance  to  considerations  entirely 
private  and  personal,  which  in  no  way  lessen  the 
esteem  I  shall  always  entertain  for  you."  [Speali;- 
ing]  Now  sign  ! 

Cakbonel. 
You  call  that  a  reason  ? 


52         comedies  for  amateur  acting. 

Cecile. 
A  diplomatic  one;  it  may  mean  everything  or 
nothing. 

Garadoux,  outside. 

Take  that  to  my  room. 

Carbokel. 
His  voice  ! 

Cecile. 
I  leave  you. 

Carbokel. 
E"o,   don't.     What  am  I  to  do  with  this? 
[Indicating  letter.'] 

Cecile. 
Ring  for  Annette,  and  bid  her  give  it  to  M. 
Garadoux.    Now,  au  revoir,  you  dear,  good  papa. 
[Kisses  Jiim,  and  exit  L. 

CARBOiq"EL. 

She's    a    spoilt  child  !      Now  for  Annette  ! 
[Rings.] 

Garadoux,  entering  at  hack. 
Well,   papa,   are    you  not  ready  yet  ?     We 
ought  to  be  at  the  mayor's  now. 

Oarbonel. 
Yes.     [Aside]   If  that  stupid  Annette  would 
but  come.     [Aloud]  While  waiting,  I  have  writ- 
ten a  very  important  letter. 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  53 

Garadoux,  not  listening. 
I'll  tell  you  a  secret,  but  not  a  word  to  your 
daughter.     They  have  come  ! 

Caeboi^el. 
Who  haye  come  ? 

Garadoux. 
My  presents  for  her. 

Carbon"el,  aside. 
He  has  bought  the  presents. 

Garadoux,  polishing  Ms  nails. 
You  shall  see  them — they're  superb — ^particu- 
larly a  pair  of  bracelets.     [Aside']  I  must  haye 
broken  that  nail,   watering.      [Aloud]   They're 
blue  enamel  and  gold. 

Carbonel. 
Blue  and  gold  !     [  With  great  effort]   The  let- 
ter I  haye  just  written — 

Garadoux. 
I  haye  not  forgotten  you,  papa.     [Talcing  lox 
from  pocket.]     A  souvenir — a  snuff-box.     Style 
Louis  XV.,  guaranteed. 

Carboi5"el,  touched. 
Oh,  monsieur,  my — my  dear  son-in-law,  you 
are  too  good. 


54         comedies  for  amateur  acting. 

Garadoux. 
Dear  papa,  you  know  how  fond  I  am  of  you. 

Carbonel. 
And  I  of  you.    [Aside]  It's  impossible  to  give 
sucli  a  letter  to  a  man  who  presents  one  with  such 
a  snuff-box. 

Garadoux. 
Twelve  o'clock.     The  mayor  will  be  waiting  ! 

Carbonel. 
In  a  moment.     I  must  change  my  cravat. 

Garadoux. 
And  I  my  coat.    [Aside]  Devil  take  that  nail  1 

[Uxit  L.  2  E. 

Carbonel,  alone. 
I  couldn't  do  it.  I  must  tear  this  up.  And 
the  other — he's  coming  for  my  answer.  [Loohs 
at  letter.]  No  address  !  and  I  didn't  put  any 
name  in  the  letter.  [Going  to  table.]  I'll  direct 
it  to  Delille — Cecile  can't  marry  both — and  Ga- 
radoux has  bought  his  presents.  [Reads]  "To 
Monsieur  Victor  Delille."  Now  for  a  stamp. 
[Rises.]  And  now  to  put  it  on  the  clock. 
[Places  letter  on  the  doch.] 

Delille,  entering  at  hack. 
It  is  only  I ! 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  55 

Caeboitel. 
On  the  clock  !  [Fxit  L.  I.  E. 

Delille,  alone. 
On  the  clock !  Hasn't  he  read  it  ?  [Tahes 
letter,^  Yes  !  this  is  the  answer.  I  scarcely  dare 
open  it.  \^Reads\  *^  Dear  monsieur  :  Your  suit 
flatters  and  honors  me — "  YSpeaTcs]  How  kind 
he  is!  \^Reads\  "But  I  regret  it  is  impossible 
to  accord  you  my  daughter's  hand."  [Falling 
on  chair,']    Refused  !    I  knew  it ! 

Cecile,  entering  at  lack. 
Monsieur  Victor,  have  you  seen — 

Delille. 
Your  father  ?    I  have.     There  is  his  answer. 
\Qives  letter.] 

Cecile. 

What,  my  letter  !    This  wasn't  meant  for  you  ! 

Delille,  ^pointing  at  address. 
It's  directed  to  me. 

Cecile. 
This  is  outrageous.     I  shall  have  to  attend  to 
this  affair  myself.     I'll  let  you  all  see  /  am  not 
timid.     Send  for  a  carriage.     Quick  ! 

Delille. 
A  carriage  !    For  whom  ? 


56         comedies  for  amateur  acting. 

Cecile. 
You'll  know  by  and  by.     Go  ! 

Delille. 
I  fly  !     [Aside]  What  energy  ! 

[JExit  quickly  at  hack. 

Cecile. 

Papa  shall  not  break  his  word  to  me  like  this. 

[TaTces  her  shawl  and  honnet  from  a  chair  at 

bach] 

Carbonel,  entering  L.  I.  E. 

I've  put  on  my  cravat.  [Sees  Cecile.  ]  Where 
are  you  going  ? 

Cecile,  tying  her  bonnet. 
Away  !    I  leave  you  for  ever  !    I  am  about  to 
immure  myself  in  a  convent. 

Carbonel. 

Eh! 

Cecile. 

A  damp  and  cold  one,  where  I  shall  not  live 
long.  But  you  will  not  care,  for  you  did  not  love 
me  enough  to  save  me  from  a  man  I  hate. 

Caebonel. 
But  it's  impossible  !   He's  bought  his  presents. 
Lovely  ones,  including  a  Louis  XV.  snuff-box  for 
me. 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  57 

Cecile. 
So  you  have  sacrificed  me  to  a  snuff-box. 
Farewell,  cruel  father ! 

Carbokel. 
It  is  no  sacrifice  !    He  is  a  charming  young 
man ;  and  in  the  end  you  will  learn  to — ^besides, 
he's  dressing  to  go  to  the  mayor's. 

Cecile. 
Tell  him  you  can't  accompany  him.      Say 
you're  ill.     [She  takes  off  bonnet  and  shawl.] 

Carbokel. 
Ah  !  that  is  a  good  idea ;  but  he  was  here 
five  minutes  ago. 

Cecile. 
People  can  die  in  less  time  than  that.    Say  it's 
a  rush  of  blood  !      [  Calling  ]    Annette,  hurry, 
bring  papa's  dressing-gown ! 

Carbonel. 
No,  no  !    I  don't  want  it. 

An'NETte,  entering  with  dressing-gown. 
What  is  the  matter  ? 

Cecile. 
Nothing   serious.     Bring   some   eau   sucree. 
[Helping  Carionel  with  gown.]     Put  this  on  ! 


58  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Cakbonel. 
I  don't  like  playing  such  a  part. 

Cecile. 
Never  mind  !  now  the  other  sleeve  ! 

Carbonel. 
And,  look  here,  I  won't  say  a  word.     You'll 
have  to  manage  it  all. 

Cecile. 
I  know  that.    [^Making  Mm  sit  in  arm-chair.] 
Annette — a  foot-stool  and  a  cushion. 

Annette,  dringing  the7n. 
Here,  mademoiselle. 

Cecile. 
I  hear  him.     [Tahes  glass  and  stands  by  her 
father.] 

Garadoux,  entering  tvith  hat. 
Now  we're  all  ready.    [Seeing  Carhonel.]   Ah  ! 
what  has  happened  ? 

Cecile. 
Papa  has  had  a  sudden — 

Garadoux. 
What? 

Cecile. 

Rush  of  blood.     He  is  suffering  greatly.     It 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  59 

will  be  impossible  for  him  to  go  out  to-day.    Will 
it  not,  papa  ? 

Cabbonel,  aside, 
I  protest  by  my  silence. 

Gabadoux. 
Poor  M.  Carbonel !    I  think  it  would  be  well 
to  apply  some  leeches. 

Ankette. 
Yes,  I'll  go  for  some. 

Cabbokel. 

No,  no ! 

Cecile,  quichly. 
This  is  better  for  him.     [Gives  him  glass.'] 
Drink,  papa.     [He  drinlcs.'] 

Gabadoux. 
It  doesn't  do  to  take  liberties  with  one's  health. 
[Trimmi7ig  Ids  nails.]   Health  is  like  a  fortune — 
not  really  appreciated  till  it's  lost. 

Cabbonel,  aside. 
I  wonder  how  long  I'm  to  be  smothered  up 
here. 

Cecile,  to  Garadoux. 
These  attacks  of  papa's  generally  last  several 
days ;  and  if,  by  chance,  your  affairs  call  you  to 
Paris — 


60  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Gaeadoux. 
I  couldn't  think  of  leaving  M.  Carbonel  while 
he  is  ill. 

Carbonel,  aside. 

An  excellent  young  man  ! 

Garadoux. 
Besides,  this  need  not  delay  our  marriage.     I 
can  go  alone  to  the  mayor. 

Cecile. 
Eh? 

Garadoux. 

M.  Carbonel's  presence  is  not  absolutely  nec- 
essary.    He  can  give  his  consent  in  writing. 

Cecile. 
Papa  is  too  fatigued  now. 

Garadoux. 
Oh,  it's  only  a  signature.  [Sitting  at  table.  ]  I'll 
write  the  body. 

Cecile,  low. 
Don't  sign  ! 

Garadoux,  Iringing  paper  and  pen. 
Sign  here  ! 

Carbonel. 
But— 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  61 

Cecile. 
What  shall  I  do  ?    [^Tahes  inhstand  and  hides 
it  leliind  her  lack,  ] 

Cakbokel. 
Where  is  the  inkstand  ? 

Gaeadoux,  after  looking  on  tahle. 
Mademoiselle  is  kind  enongh  to  hold  it  for 
you. 

Oakbokel. 

Thank  you,  my  dear  child.     \^He  dips  pen.] 

Cecile,  aside. 
All  hope  is  gone  ! 

Delille,  entering  running,  at  back. 
The  carriage  is  at  the  door. 

Garadoux. 
What  carriage  ? 

Delille,  astonished. 
What !  Monsieur  Garadoux  ! 

Gaeadoux,  aside, 
Deyilish  unfortunate  ! 

Delille. 
You  have  been  well  since — 


(52  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Gakadoux,  quichly. 

Perfectly ! 

Cakbonel. 

So  you  know  one  another  ? 

Delille. 
Yes,  I  had  the  honor  to  defend  monsieur— he 
was  my  first  client. 

Cecile. 
Ah!     {To  Cardonel,  low]  Imprisoned  for  six 
months ! 

Caebonel,  rising  in  consternation. 

What's  this  ?     [To  Oaradoux]  You  have  been 

in  prison  ? 

Gakadoux. 

It  was  nothing — a  quarrel — in  a  moment  of 

excitement — 

Cecile. 

Monsieur  struck  his  first  wife  with  a  stick. 

Akkette,  coining  L.  C. 
Oh,  the  villain  !     [Puts  hach  chair  and  foot- 
stool.'] 

Carboi^el. 
My   poor   Cecile!     [To   Garadoux]  Go,  sir! 
Leave  this  house,  you  wife-beater !    Take  away 
your  presents.    Here  is  your  snuff-box.     [Offers 
his  old  horn  one.] 


A  TRUMPED   SUIT.  63 

Gaeadoux. 
Excuse  me,  that  is  not  the  right  one. 

Oarbokel,  luith  dignity  giving  the  other. 
There  it  is  ! — you  may  keep  the  snuff  I  put  in  it. 

Gaeadoux. 

I  am  glad,  monsieur,  that  this  little  incident 

has  so  quickly  restored  you.     [Going,  to  Delille] 

Idiot !  [Exit  L.  2  E. 

Oaebokel. 

"What  was  that  he  said  ? 

Cecile,  low  to  Delille, 
Now  then,  ask  him  at  once.     Put  on   your 
gloyes. 

Delille. 

But  isn't  it — 

Cecile. 

Don't  be  afraid.     He's  more  timid  than  you. 

Delille,  Iravely. 
Oh,  he's  timid,  is  he  ?   [Begins  to  put  on  gloves."] 

Cecile,  low  to  Carlonel. 
He's  going  to  ask  for  my  hand.     Put  on  your 
gloyes. 

Carbonel. 
But  isn't  it — 

Cecile. 

Don't  be  afraid.     He's  more  timid  than  you. 


64  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Oakboitel,  hravely. 
Oh,  he's  timid,  is  he  ?    [Puts  on  gloves.  ] 

Delille,  boldly. 
Monsieur ! 

Carbonel,  same  manner. 
Monsieur ! 

Delille,  resolutely, 
For  the  second  time,  I  ask  for  your  daughter's 
hand. 

Carbonel. 

Monsieur,  you  ask  in  a  tone — 

Delille,  sternly. 
It  is  the  tone  I  choose  to  use,  monsieur. 

Carboitel,  same  manner. 
Then  I  am  happy  to  grant  your  request,  mon- 
sieur. 

Delille. 

But  you  grant  it  in  a  tone — 

Carbonel,  sternly. 
It  is  tlie  tone  I  choose  to  use,  monsieur. 

Delille. 

Monsieur ! ! ! 

Carbonel. 

Monsieur ! ! ! 


A  TRUMPED  SUIT.  65 

Cecile,  coming  ietiueen  them. 
[Aside]  They'll  quarrel  in  a  minute.   [Aloud] 
Monsieur  Victor,  pajoa  hopes  you  will  stay  to  din- 
ner.    That  was  what  you  wished  to  say,  wasn't  it, 
papa  ? 

Oaeboi^el. 

I  suppose  so  !  But  mind,  he  mustn't  break 
any  glasses.  [Aside]  I'll  make  him  try  the  new 
wine. 

Cecile. 

Oh,  I'll  answer  for  him.  He  has  nothing  more 
to  be  nervous  about  now.     Haye  you,  Victor  ? 

Delille. 
I  am  not  quite  sure  about  that,  Cecile. 

Cecile. 
Do  you  know,  I  have  never  felt  nervous  till 
now  ?  [To  the  audie^ice]  You  have  seen  these 
two  timid  people — well,  I  am  just  as  timid  as  tliey 
were,  and  we  shall  all  remain  in  the  same  unhapi)y 
state,  until  we  receive  the  assurance  of  your  ap- 
proval. 

5  CuRTAII>r. 


A  BAD  CASE. 

AN  ORIGINAL   COMEDY  IN  ONE  ACT. 
By  JULIAN  MAGNUS  and  H.  C.  BUx\NER. 


CHARACTEIIS. 


Aethur  Chishomi,  M.  D.,  aged  30. 
Miss  Letitia  Dalrymple,  aged  50. 
Miss  Sylvia  Daleymple,  her  niece,  aged  19. 
Lucy,  a  servant. 

ScEiTE  :  Smallington  Centre,  N.  Y. 
Time— The  Present. 


A   BAD    CASE 


ScEiTE :  Drawing-room  in  Miss  Dalrymple's 
House.  Windows  to  ground  at  back,  show- 
ing distant  landscape.     Doors  E.  and  L. 

Miss  Dalrymple  and  Lucy  discovered  at  rise  of 
curtain. 

Miss  Dalrtmple,  lonnet  and  sliaiol  on . 
Lucy,  I  am  obliged  to  go  out  for  an  hour — 

Lucy. 
What,  ma'am,  with  your  bad  elbow,  and  you 
expecting  your  nephew  every  minute  ?     After 
sending  for  the  new  doctor,  too  ? 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
New  doctor  indeed  !  I  wish  old  Jenkins  hadn't 
died — though  to  be  sure  for  the  last  twenty  years 
he  never  gave  anything  but  sp-up  of  squills,  for 
fear  he  should  make  a  mistake,  and  he  was  so 
shaky  that  when  he  counted  my  pulse  he  always 
made  it  one  hundred  and  fifty.    It's  two  hours 


70  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

since  I  sent  for  this  new  doctor,  and  lie  hasn't 
come  yet.  My  elbow  might  have  died  in  half  the 
time.  I  mean  I  might  have  died.  What  is  this 
new  doctor  like  ? 

Lucy. 
I  don't  know,  ma'am  ;  he  only  came  day  before 
yesterday  ;  but  I  have  heard  he  is  young  and  good- 
looking,  and  they  say  there's  been  quite  an  epi- 
dermic among  the  single  ladies  this  morning. 
But  must  you  go  out,  ma'am  ? 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
Yes,  Lucy.  The  creatures — I  can't  call  them 
anything  else — no  sooner  heard  that  my  elbow  was 
troubling  me  than  they  called  a  meeting  to  elect 
that  Mrs.  Smith  Presidentess.  I  am  not  going  to 
let  them  beat  me  like  that .  No ;  if  I  wasn't 
strong  enough  to  walk  there,  I'd  crawl,  even  if 
I  had  to  be  carried  on  a  shutter.  And  when  the 
conspirators  meet  they  will  find  me  among  them — 
the  Nemesis  of  Smallington  Centre  ! 

Lucy. 
But  if  your  nephew,  Mr.  Blackhurst,  should 
arrive  while  you're  a  Nemesising  it,  ma'am  ? 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
I  don't   think  he  will ;  there's  no  fast   train 
now  from  New  York  till  the  afternoon;  and  if  Mr. 
Arthur's  anything  like  what  he  was  eight  years  ago 


A  BAD   CASE.  71 

when  he  went  away,  a  slow  train  won't  suit  liim . 
But  call  Miss  Sylvia,  and  I'll  tell  lier  what  to  do 
in  case  he  should  come ;  and  be  sure  not  to  say 
anything  to  her  about  my  having  had  the  rheuma- 
tism this  morning.  I  don't  want  to  frighten  her. 
[Lucy  goes  toward  door  as  Sylvia  enters  E,]  I 
was  just  going  to  call  you,  miss . 

[Exit  Lucy  R, 
Sylvia. 
Did  you  want  me,  aunt  ? 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
Yes,  my  dear.  I  have  to  go  out;  there  are 
traitors  in  our  camp.  I  must  make  a  martyr  of 
myself,  or  the  Dorcas  Society  will  be  wrecked — yes, 
wrecked,  by  that  awful,  designing  Mrs.  Smith  !  A 
widow  indeed  !  I  should  like  to  know  where  her 
husband  is. 

Sylvia. 
Probably  dead  ! 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
I  don't  believe  it,  though  to  be  sure  she's 
enough  to  have  killed  any  one.     What  do   you 
think — she  actually  proposed  to  admit  gentlemen 
to  the  Society's  Tuesday  evenings  ! 

Sylvia. 
Horrible  ! 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
Wasn't  it  ?    Now,  dear,  if  by  any  chance  my 


72  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

nephew  should  come  while  I  am  away,  try  to  mal?:e 
him  comfortable.  Treat  him  as  I  myself  would. 
I  hear  he  has  quite  reformed.  And  you  know  he's 
my  only  relation  except  you.  And  let  me  tell 
you  of  a  little  idea  I  have  in  my  head.  If  only 
he  should  like  you,  and  you  should  like  him — 
why,  can  you  guess  what  might  happen  then  ? 

Sylvia. 
Like  would  cure  like,  I  suppose — truth  of  the 
homcBopathic  principle  once  more  asserted. 

Miss  Daleymple. 
I  don't  belieye  in  infinitesimal  doses. 

Sylvia. 
No  more  do  I.     [Aside]     Especially  of  love. 

Miss  Dalrymple. 

You've  never  seen  him,  of  course,  my  dear, 

but  I  don't  know,  really,  whether  that  isn't  rather 

an  advantage  ;  you'll  be  all  the  more  predisposed 

to  like  him. 

Sylvia. 

I'll  do  my  best,  aunty  dear. 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
You'll   have  very  little   difficulty,    my  love. 
You'll  be  surprised  in  him— you'll  find  him  quite 
a  striking  young  person.    A  little  flighty  in  his 
conversation,  perhaps,  but — 


A  BAD   CASE.  73 

Sylvia. 
Oil,  I  like  vivacity,  aunty. 

Miss  Daletmple. 
Then  I'm  sure  you'll  get  along  very  well  with 
my  nephew.  Good-by,  my  dear.  The  machina- 
tions of  that  Mrs.  Smith  demand  my  attention. 
Now,  don't  fail  to  receive  your  cousin  kindly — 
avoid  any  appearance  of  cold  reserve,  and  don't 
be  astonished  if  he's  a  little  odd  and — foreign  in 
his  conversation.     Good-by. 

[Exit  Miss  Dalrymple  L, 

Sylvia,  alone. 

I'm  sure  I  shall  never  know  what  to  do  with 
him,  if  he  should  come.  It  is  horribly  awkward 
— ^to  be  left  to  receive  a  strange  cousin — all  alone. 
What  shall  I  call  him  ?  I  can't  say  "  cousin  "  ;  it 
sounds  too  familiar.  And  then — if  he's  a  forward 
young  man. .  .  .  And  what  am  I  to  talk  to  him 
about  ?  I  can't  awaken  reminiscences  of  his  youth, 
that's  clear.  And  I  daren't  talk  about  his  foreign 
travel .  I  don't  see,  though,  why  I  should  bother 
myself  so  much  about  him.  Aunt  Dalrymple's 
scapegrace  nephew,  indeed  !  A  pretty  person  !  I 
shouldn't  care  to  see  him  if ^  there  weren't  another 
man  in  the  place — and  there  are  other  men  in  the 
place .  There's  the  clergyman's  eldest  son  just  get- 
ting to  be  twenty-one  and  quite  nice  ;  and  the  new 
doctor  who  came  day  before  yesterday,  and  the 


74  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

girls  all  «ay  lie's  perfectly  sweet.  I  shan't  worry 
much  over  Mr.  Blackhurst.  I  do  not  propose  to 
make  the  slightest  preparation  for  him.  I'll  receive 
him  just  as  I  am,  and  lie  may  start  the  conversa- 
tion. {Bell  rings.']  The  bell!  There  he  is! 
And  I'm  sure  I  look  horrid.  {Runs  to  mirror 
and  arranges  ribiofis.]  Oh,  dear,  that'll  never 
do.     I'll  just  run  up  stairs  for  a  moment. 

[Exit  Sylvia,  R. 
Enter  Lucy  L.,  shotving  in  Ghisholm, 

Ohisholm. 

Here  I  am  at  last !    I  suppose  you  thought  I'd 

never  get  here  ! 

Lucy. 

Miss  Dalrymple  has  been  expecting  you  a  long 

time,  sir. 

Chisholm. 

I'm  very  sorry  to  have  kept  her  waiting.  Take 
her  my  card.  [Aside]  I  don't  see  why  a  doctor 
shouldn't  carry  a  card,  as  well  as  any  one  else— 
especially  when  it's  his  first  visit.  And  I'm  sure 
I  had  a  card  somewhere  about  me.  [  Feeling  in 
pochets]     Ah  !  here  it  is  !    {Gives  it. 

Lucy,  going  R. 
Yes,  sir  !     [Reads]     Mr.  Arthur  Blackhurst. 
[Aside]     So  he's  come  at  last.    And  he  doesn't 
look  so  very  scapegrace-y  either.     [Aloud]     I'm 
so  glad  you've  come,  sir  !  [Exit  R. 


A  BAD   CASE.  75 

Chisholm,  alone. 
So  glad — wonder  whether  she  wants  me,  too.  Of 
all  the  towns  for  sick  single  women,  this  is  the  worst 
— I  mean  the  best.  It's  business  for  me,  if  it  is 
.  .  .  .  sentiment  for  them.  I'ye  had  only  one  male 
patient  to-day — ^bnt  I'm  bound  to  say  he  occupied 
more  time  than  even  the  worst  old  maid  on  my  list. 
Let  me  see,  what  was  his  name.  He  did  give  me  a 
card.  [^Feels  fo7' it]  I  suppose  I  must  have  left 
it  at  the  house.  I'd  have  been  here  two  hours 
ago,  to  attend  to  this  unfortunate  elbow,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  him.  A  very  neat  black  eye  he 
had — a  very  artistic  little  mouse.  Got  it  in  a 
fight  with  a  bar-keeper,  and  wanted  it  toned  down 
before  he  could  go  to  see  his  maiden  aunt.  I 
painted  it  over  in  distemper — magnesia  and  honey 
— and  he's  drying  off  now.  Ah,  now  for  the  next 
old  tabby.  \ Sylvia  enters  R.]  Tabby  !  why,  she's 
a  kitten,  bless  her  ! 

Sylvia,  rushing  to  him. 
Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come  !     [Taking  loth 

his  hands, 

Chisholm. 

Thank    you  —  you're    very    kind.       [Aside'] 

Well,  I'm  glad  I  have  come.     [Alotcd]     You  see 

I've  only  just — 

Sylvia. 

Yes,  we  know  you've  only  just  arrived.    We 
had  expected  you  a  little  earlier  ;  but  we  won't 


76  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

reproach  you  now  yon  are  here.  Sit  down,  do 
[they  sit,  C.  and  L.  C.\  You  must  make  yourself 
quite  at  home,  you  know. 

Chisholm. 
I'll  try  to.     [Aside]     Nice  cordial  style  about 
the  people  here ! 

Sylvia. 

My  aunt  has  been  so  anxious  to  see  you . 

Chisholm,  aside. 
Her  aunt,  too.     Wonder  what's  the  matter 
with  the  aunt.     Confound  the  aunt ! 

Sylvia  . 
I  hope  you're  quite  well.     [Aside']     He  seems 
to  feel  a  little  strange.     I  must  be  more  cordial. 
[Aloud]  Quite  well  ? 

Chisholm. 
Quite  well,  thanks.     [Suddenly]    How's  your 
elbow  ? 

Sylvia. 
My   elbow  !      [Aside]     He   is   very  flighty. 
PerhajDS  that's  a  foreign  idiom. 

Chisholm,  embarrassed. 
I  mean — I  mean — I  mean — heavy  rain  yester- 
day— ^bad  weather  for  rheumatism . 


A  BAD  CASE.  77 

Sylyia. 
And  bad  for  the  corn,  too. 

Chisholm. 
The  corn !    Well,  to  tell  yon  frankly,  corns 
are  not  exactly  in  my  line . 

Sylvia,  aside. 
He  has  no  inclination  for  an  agricultural  life. 
I'm  afraid  he's  not  thoroughly  reformed.  Per- 
haps he  has  not  sown  all  his  wild  oats.  [Aloud] 
Now  tell  me  all  about  yourself.  You  don't  know 
how  much  interest  I  take  in  you.  What  have 
you  been  doing  the  last  eight  years  ? 

Chisholm,  astonished  and  embarrassed. 
Well — that  is — you  see — 

Sylvia,  quietly. 
Oh  !  I  beg  your  pardon — I  ought  not  to  have 
asked  that,  for  I  suppose  you  have  been  very — 
very — [hesitates. 

Chisholm. 
Well,  I  have  been  rather — ^rather — [hesitates. 

Sylvia. 
Yes,  of  course,  but  that  is  all  over  now,  and 
you're  going  to  settle  down  here  and  be  quite 
proper  and  steady,  aren't  you  ? 


78  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Chisholm. 
Yes,  certainly,  Miss  Dalrymple.     [Aside]  It's 
nice  to  have  a  pretty  girl  show  so  much  interest  in 
one. 

Sylvia. 

Oh,  you  needn't  be  so  formal.  I  feel  already 
as  though  we  were  very  old  friends. 

Chisholm  . 
Thank  you  !  [Aside]    I  wish  she'd  begin  about 
her  elbow ;  she  didn't  seem  to  like  my  referring 
to  it. 

Sylvia. 

Now,  I  don't  know  what  to  call  you.  I  can't 
address  you  as  Mister,  it  seems  so  distant  and  un- 
friendly toward  one  of  whom  I  am  going  to  see  so 
much . 

Chisholm. 
I  hope  so. 

Sylvia. 

Oh  yes,  indeed .  Now  we  have  you  here,  we're 
not  going  to  let  you  slip  away  in  a  hurry.  "We'll 
not  allow  you  to  fall  back  again  into — rather — 
rather — you  know. 

Chisholm. 
I  don't  want  to.     I  think  it's  very  nice  here. 
[  Change  of  tone]   Your  elbow's  better,  I  suppose  ? 

Sylvia,  aside. 
"What  a  queer  phrase  that  is  !    I  wonder  what  it 


A  BAD   CASE.  79 

means  ?     It   won't   do   to  appear   too  innocent. 
[Aloud]     Oh  yes,  tliank  you. 

Chisholm,  aside. 
She  needn't  thank  me.     She's  getting  well  too 
soon.   She's  yery  pretty.   What  an  interesting  inva- 
lid she'd  make  !     [Alotcd]     I  think  all  you  need  is 
toning  up . 

Sylvia. 

And  I've  heard  that  all  you  need  is  toning  down. 

Chisholm. 
At  least  our  two  tones  seem  likely  to  be  har- 
monious . 

Sylvia. 

Why  should  they  not,  Ar — Arthur  ? 

Chisholm. 
Arthur  ?     [Rapidly  moving  his   chair  up  to 
hers]     Miss  Dalrymple  ! 

Sylvia. 
You  may  call  me  Sylvia. 

Chisholm. 
You  are  only  too  good.  [Seizing  her  hand, 
speahing  hurriedly]  Ah !  if  you  could  but  know 
what  an  instantaneous  imj)ression  your  beauty, 
your  grace,  your  delicacy  have  made  upon  me,  you 
would  not  wonder,  Winona — 


80  COMEDIES   FOR  AMATEUR   ACTING. 

Sylvia. 
Sylvia,  you  mean  ! 

CnisnoLM^  as  before. 
Sylvia,  I  mean — you  would  not  wonder  that 
this  young  heart  yearns  toward  you,  in  all  its — its 
— its  adolescent  efflorescence,  Miranda — 

Sylvia. 
But  my  name  is  not  Miranda* ! 

Chisholm. 
Of  course  not.     \_8inhingon  Ids  kneel     Ophe- 
lia, I  can  no  longer  restrain  the  throbbings  of  a 
heart  that — 

Sylvia. 

Oh  hush,  Arthur  !  You  must  not  sj)eak  to  me 
like  that — at  least,  not  until  you  have  seen  my 
aunt — our  aunt. 

Chisholm  [rising,  startled^. 
Our  aunt !     [Aside^     Look  here,  this  is  get- 
ting a  little  too  rapid  for  me.     ^Resuming  Ms  pro- 
fessional air^    I  trust  your  elbow  is  entirely  well  ? 

Sylvia,  aside. 
That  elbow  again  !  Oh,  gracious  me  !  I  do  be- 
lieve— upon  my  word — the  poor  fellow — he's  just 
a  little — crazy,  you  know.     The  hot  climates — or 
something — have  turned  his  head.     And  {looking 


A  BAD   CASE.  81 

out  window]  there  is  aunt  coming.    [Aloud]  Ar- 
thur, aunty's  coming. 

Chisholm. 
The  deuce  she  is  ! 

Sylvia. 

Yes.     Aren't  you  glad  to  see  her  ? 

Chisholm. 
Well,  no,  not  particularly. 

Sylvia. 
Not  glad  to  see  aunty  ? 

Chisholm. 
I  wish  '^ aunty"  was  in — Afghanistan. 

Sylvia. 
0  Arthur  !   [Aside]   He's  really  crazy.  I  must 
humor  him,  [Aloud]  Well,  suppose  we  go  into  the 
library. 

Chisholm. 
Are  you  coming  ? 

Sylvia. 
Yes.     Then  you'll  feel  more  like  seeing  aunty. 

Chisholm. 
Perhaps  I  shall.     Come  along,  by  all  means. 
6 


82  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Sylvia,  leading  Mm  R. 
Yon  go.  I'll  follow  in  a  moment.  [CJdsholm 
enters  roo7n.  Sylvia  immediately  shuts  and  lochs 
door.']  He's  quite  crazy,  poor  fellow.  I  am  afraid 
he'll  do  aunty  some  mischief.  However,  he's  safe 
there  for  a  few  minutes,  and  I  can  send  for  the 
gardener  to  help  control  him. 

Miss  Dalrymple,  entering  L. 
Of   all    the  disgraceful  outrages  ever  perpe- 
trated, this  last  outbreak  of  my  wretched  nephew's 
is  the  worst !  \_Sinlcs  into  chair, 

Sylvia. 
What  has  he  done,  aunt  ? 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
Done  !  What  hasn't  he  done  ?  Broke  into 
the  Dorcas  rooms,  just  as  I  was  about  to  over- 
whelm that  Smith  woman,  with  a  dreadful  black 
eye  and  very  drunk,  and,  seizing  me  round  the 
waist,  tried  to  make  me  dance,  while  she  laughed 
her  horrible,  vulgar  laugh  and  secured  nearly  all 

the  votes  ! 

Sylvia. 

You  must  forgive  him,  aunt.     He  is  not  ac- 
countable for  his  actions. 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
I  hear  he  has  been  in  the  town  for  hours— 


A  BAD  CASE.  83 

that  he  had  a  fight  in  a  low  saloon,  where  he  got 
that  terrible  eye. 

Sylyia. 
I  didn't  notice  anything  the  matter  with  his 
eye. 

Miss  Dalrymple. 

Has  he  been  here  then  ? 

Sylvia. 
Yes.    I've  locked  him  up  in  that  room. 

Chisholm,  pounding  on  door. 
Sylvia !  let  me  out.     I'm  not  afraid  of  your 
aunt.     She's  nothing  to  me. 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
Listen  to  that — the  ungrateful  boy,  for  whom 
I  have  done  so  much. 

Sylvia. 
I  am  sure  I  tried  all  in  my  power  to  keep  him 
quiet  and  happy. 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
Yes,  dear,  I  am  sure  you  did ;  the  mischief 
was  done  before  he  saw  you.     [  Chisholm  pounds 
on  door. 

Sylvia. 
Shall  I  risk  letting  him  out  ? 


84  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Miss  Daleymple. 
Call  Lucy  and  the  gardener  first.     He  may  be 
dangerous  in  this  state. 

Sylvia. 
But  they  mustn't  hurt  him. 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
Hurt  him  !    I'll  have  him  taken  at  once  to  the 
police-station.      [CMsJiolm  pounds.]     Yes,    sir. 
My  gardener  and  my  maid  shall  take  you  to  the 
police-station. 

Chisholm. 
I'll  smash  your  gardener  and  your  maid  and 
the  whole  family  if  I  get  a  chance  at  you. 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
Hear  the  wretch  ! 

Lucy,  entering  L. 
0  marm  !     0  Miss  Dalrymple  !     What  is  all 
this  horrible  noise  ? 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
Lucy,  Where's  the  gardener  ? 

Lucy. 
He's  out,  marm,  for  the  day.     You  gave  him 
permission  this  morning. 


A  BAD   CASE.  85 

Miss  Dalrymple. 

Then  how  shall  we  get  rid  of  this  drunken 
wretch  ? 

Sylvia. 

0  aunty,  he's  not  drunk  ! 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
What  is  he,  then  ? 

Sylvia. 
He's  only  crazy,  aunty,  dear — only  the  least 
bit  insane.    [  Chishohn  pounds  ferociously.  ]    He's 
only  a  little  bit  flighty  and  foreign  in  his  ways. 
But  I'm  not  afraid  of  him.     I'll  open  the  door. 

Lucy. 
Oh,  law  !  miss,  don't  go  near  him.     It  may  be 
contiguous. 

Sylvia. 

Oh,  he  was  really  quite  nice  and  calm  with  me. 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
Yes,  open  the  door,  Sylvia ;  and  I  myself  will 
lead  the  miscreant  to  the  tribunal  of  justice. 

Lucy. 
She  means  the  police-station,  where  the  green 
lamp  is.     0  marm,  don't  be  so  hard  on  him. 

Sylvia. 
0  aunty,  spare  him  !    \_Kneelmg.']  He's  really 
so  very  nice. 


86  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Lucy,  sobbing. 
So  very  nice,  ma'am.     Oh  !    [She  starts,  as 
Chisholm  batters  on  door. 

Miss  Dalrymple. 

Sylvia,  rise,  I  command  you,  and  bring  forth 

the  culprit.     [Sylvia  opens  door.]   Come  out,  sir  ! 

[Pause. 

Lucy. 

Please  come  out,  sir.     [Pause. 

Sylyia. 
Please  come  out — Arthur — dear ! 

Chisholm,  entering. 
What  the — dickens  do  you  mean  by  locking 
me  in  there  ?    Have  I  fallen  into  a  mad-house  ? 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
Sylvia  !     What  does  this  mean  ?    Who  is  this 
man  you  have  been  concealing  in  my  house  ? 

Lucy. 

Yes,  Miss  Sylvia,  what  is  this  clandestineness  ? 

Sylvia,  to  Miss  Dalrymple. 
Is  not  this  your  nephew  ? 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
No!! 

Sylvia,  to  Chisholm. 

Are  you  not  Arthur  ? 


A  BAD   CASE.  87 

Chisholm. 
That  is  my  name.     [To  Miss  Dairy mple]  Ma- 
dam, I  entered  your  house  upon  a  perfectly  honor- 
able errand,  and  strictly  in  pursuance  of  my  pro- 
fession. 

Miss  Dalktmple. 
Young  man,  if  you're  in  the  Electro-plating, 
History  of  the  Bible,  Sewing  Machine,  or  Light- 
ning-rod line,  I  don't  want  any  of  them. 

Chisholm. 

Madam,  when  I  came  here,  I  sent  up  my 
card. 

Lucy. 

Yes,  I  took  it  to  Miss  Sylvia  ;  it  read  as  plain 
as  print,  ''Mr.  Arthur  Blackhurst." 

Chisholm. 
The  man  whose  eye  I  painted  this  morning ! 
You  must  excuse  me  ;  I  had  his  card  in  my  pocket 
and  forgot  to  look  at  it.     I  am  Dr.  Arthur  Chis- 
holm. 

Stlyia. 

Arthur  Chisholm ! 

Miss  Dalrtmple. 
Dr.  Chisholm  ! 

Lucy. 
The  new  physicianer ! 


88  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Chisholm. 
Precisely — who  has  spent  a  most  agreeable  half 
hour  with  this  young  lady . 

Sylvia  . 

I  am  afraid  it  was  a  great  deal  too  agreeable. 

Oh  dear  ! 

Miss  Daleymple. 

Never  mind,  my  love.     I'm  sure  the  doctor 

will  forgiye  you  if  you've  been  rude  to  him. 

Sylvia. 
But  I  wasn't  rude  to  him — and  that's  just 
what's  so  liorrible  ! 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
You  will  join  us  at  dinner  to-day,  Dr.  Chis- 
holm, and  permit  us  to  make  oui'  apologies  more 

fully. 

Chisholm. 

I  shall  be  most  happy ;  and  then  I  shall  be 

able  to  diagnose  more  carefully  the  case  of  my 

interesting  patient  here.     [Indicating  Sylvia. 

Miss  Dalrymple. 
But  it  was  I  who  sent  for  you,  Doctor. 

Chisholm. 
You  !     Then  it  was  you  who  had  the  rheuma- 
tism !   How's  your  elbow  ? 

[Quick  Curtain.] 


COUIiTSHIP  WITH  VAKIATIONS, 

COMEDY    IN    ONE    ACT, 
By  H.  C.  BUNNER, 


CHARACTERS 


Ernest  Archibald. 

ViRGii^iA  Berkeley,   a  young  widoio, 


cousin. 


[The  French  original  of  this  play  is  "  Le  Monde  Renverse; 
written  by  M.  Henri  de  Bornier.] 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS. 


ScEKE :  A  drawing-room  in  a  country  house, 
prettily  furnished.  Door  from  hall,  K.  2  E. 
Door  to  next  room,  L.  U.  E.  Through  large 
French  windows  at  the  back  is  seen  a  flower- 
garden  ;  in  the  distance,  a  view  of  the  Hud- 
son. Large  table  a  little  to  the  left  of  0. ,  with  a 
chair  on  each  side.  Jardiniere,  with  flowers, 
in  the  window  E.     Mantelpiece  at  L.  1  E. 

Ernest  Archibald  stands  by  the  mantelpiece,  looking  rath- 
er mournfully  at  a  photograph  in  a  velvet  frame.  He  sighs  in 
a  mild  and  subdued  way,  and  his  inspection  appears  to  yield 
him  but  a  limited  amount  of  satisfaction.  After  a  moment, 
however,  he  breaks  the  silence  and  opens  the  play  by  solilo- 
quizing : 

If  I  dared  !  But  I  don't  dare.  I  didn't  dare 
before  the  advent  of  the  late-lamented  Berkeley ; 
and  now  that  he  has  come  and  gone,  I  don't  see 
any  material  improvement  in  the  i^osition.-  If 
she  was  formidable  as  a  girl,  she's  only  doubly 
terrifying  as  a  widow.  0  Cousin  Virginia  !  Cou- 
sin Virginia  ! — hello.  Cousin  Virginia  ! 


9;>  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

The  tone  of  his  sentimental  apostrophe  suddenly  changes, 
aud  his  last  repetition  of  the  name  is  simply  a  surprised  saluta- 
tion, addressed  to  a  young  lady  who  has  just  entered  the  room 
R.  2  E.  The  young  lady  has  bright  eyes  and  an  air  of  entire 
self-possession,  which,  in  conjunction  with  a  mischievous  smile, 
give  a  faint  hint  of  the  reason  why  Ernest  hadn't  dared.  And 
the  general  appearance  of  the  young  lady  suflSciently  explains 
why  he  felt  badly  about  it.  Virginia  Berkeley  carries  on  her 
arm  a  traveling-shawl,  and  in  her  hand  an  extremely  small 
work-basket,  of  which  luggage  her  host  proceeds  to  disembar- 
rass  her. 

Ernest. 
Why,  my  dear  Virginia,  we  didn't  expect  you 
so   soon  !     Let  me  take  your  shawl — and  that 
work-basket.     How  did  you  get  here  ? 

Virginia. 
Ernest,  where's  my  aunt  ? 

Ernest  . 
She's  gone  to  the  station  to  meet  you. 

Virginia. 
What !  did  she  think  I  was  going  to  take  that 
liot,  stuffy  railroad  to  ride  twenty  miles  ?  As  you 
would  say,  not  much  !  I  drove  up  from  Peekskill 
in  the  phaeton.  John  is  putting  my  pony  in  the 
stable  at  this  moment.  Pony's  tired — which  re- 
minds me  that  I  am  too .  But  you  don't  offer  me 
a  chair.  You  stand  still  and  look  at  me,  just  as 
you've  done  for  twenty  years,  ever  since  we  were 
small  children  in  pinafores.     Your  pinafore  was 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS.  93 

dirty  :  mine  was  clean.  You  used  to  stare  at  me 
then  :  you  do  now.  I  don't  see  that  it  has  ever 
done  you  any  good.  It  is  yery  complimentary, 
but  I  should  prefer  a  chair. 

Ernest. 
I  don't  know  why  you  want  a  chair  when  I 
am  present.     You  always  sit  down  on — 

ViRGiKiA,  severely. 
Ernest !    No  slang,  if  you  please  !    Especially, 
no   impertinent   slang.      Ah,  thank  you  !     You 
have  picked  out  the  only  uncomfortable  chair  in 
the  room,  but  never  mind — it  will  do. 

Ernest. 
Virginia,  how  long  are  you  going  to    stay 
here  ? 

Virginia,  promptly. 

One  week.  But,  if  the  prospect  alarms  you 
already,  you  may  go  somewhere  else.  Well,  why 
are  you  looking  at  me  now  ? 

Ernest. 
I'm  not  looking  at  you. 

Virginia. 

What  are  you  looking  at,  then  ? 

Ernest,  hesitatingly. 
I'm  looking  at  your  dress. 


94  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

ViKGiKiA,  absently. 
Oh,  yes.     I've  left  off  my  mourning. 

Ernest,  involuntarily. 
Hop-M ! 

Virginia. 

Ernest !  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ex- 
traordinary remark — to  characterize  it  mildly  ? 
It  is  the  first  sign  of  animation  you  have  given. 
I  have  no  objection  to  vivacity,  but  the  form  it 
takes  is  a  little  peculiar. 

Erkest. 
Now  look  here,  Virginia ;  you  didn't  care  a 
copper  for  him,  either. 

Virginia. 
Whom  do  you  mean — what  do  you  mean — are 
you  insane,  Ernest  ? 

Ernest. 
I  mean  the  late-lamented.  Oh,  don't  look 
indignant  and  offended.  It  was  your  mother's 
marriage  ;  not  yours.  I  don't  say  anything  dis- 
respectful of  the  late  Berkeley — no,  far  from  it. 
I've  had  a  high  regard  for  him  ever  since  he  died 
and  left  you  your  freedom  and  his  fortune  and  a 
pony-phaeton.    But,  alive,  he  was  a  decided  bore  ! 

Virginia. 
Ernest ! 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS.  95 

Erhest. 
Yes,  a  bore  !    He  bored  me  ! 

ViRGimA. 

You? 

Ernest. 

Yes  !    For — ^because — you  know. 

Virginia. 
Great  heavens,  Ernest !   it  isn't  possible  that 
you're  trying  to  make  love  to  me  ! 

Ernest,  somewhat  taken  aback. 

Isn't  it  ? 

Virginia. 

How  long  since  you  got  that  idea  into  your 

head? 

Ernest. 

Well,  I  didn't  quite  expect  this  kind  of  thing 
— at  least,  so  much  of  it.  I  meant  to  tell  you 
that — that — ^for  a  long  time  I've  been — 

Virginia. 
Well,  what  ? 

Ernest. 

Er — er — sighing — 

Virginia,  highly  amused. 

Sighing  ?  Sighing  9  Oh,  ha-ha-ha-ha-ha  !  Sigh- 
ing ?  0  Ernest,  dear  ;  do  tell  me  next  time  you 
sigh — I  should  so  like  to  see  you  sighing.  [^Con- 
tinuation of  ha-ha' S.I 


96  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Erxest. 
Oh,  confound  it !    Virginia  !  don't  laiigli  so. 
Let  me  sj^eak. 

VlRGIinA. 

Certainly — oh,  certainly.  I'd  like  to  see  how 
you  do  it.  Take  care  !  you're  not  the  first,  you 
know.  If  you  don't  introduce  some  novel  effect 
into  3^our  courtship,  you've  no  chance  at  all. 
Come,  let's  hear  3^ou  sigh. 

Ernest,  confidentially,  to  vacancy. 
Not  the  first.     I  should  think  not !     Perhaps 
this  would  be  a  good  situation  to  exit  on. 

VlRGIls^IA. 

Proceed.     Sigh ! 

Ernest. 
Well,  then — I  love  you  ! 

Virginia. 
Doubtless.     Proceed. 

Ernest. 
I — I — adore  you. 

Virginia. 
Couldn't  you  adore  me  with  a  little  variation 

of  style  ? 

Ernest. 

If  you  doubt  that  my  love  will  last — 


COURTSHIP  WITH  V.UILVTIONS.  97 

ViRGIKIA. 

I  don't.  That's  just  what  I'm  afraid  of.  It's 
a  very  stupid  kind  of  loye. 

Erkest. 
But  I  ask  so  little,  Virginia.     I  don't  demand 
that  you  should  love  me — 

ViRGIN'IA. 

Now,  that  is  really  kind  and  considerate  of 
you ! 

Erkest. 

When  you  left  this  house  two  years  ago,  Vir- 
ginia, you  were  not  so  cruel  to  me.  I  was  twenty 
years  old — it  was  spring — and  that  was  the  last 
day  of  spring  on  which  you  left  us.  Do  you  not 
remember  that  time,  my  cousin  ?  Has  the  odor 
of  your  ball-bouquets  overpowered  the  perfume 
of  our  woodland  flowers  ?  /  have  not  forgotten, 
at  least.  I  can  see  you  now  :  running  down  the 
long  walks  of  the  garden  ;  your  dark  hair  flying 
behind  you ;  I  can  hear  the  clear  ring  of  your 
voice  as  you  called  my  name.  Ah,  v/hat  a  grand 
air  you  had  then ;  though  you  were  only  a  little 
girl  just  from  boarding-school.  I  was  sometimes 
almost  afraid  of  you,  but  I  always  admired  you — 
ay  !  I  loved  you,  though  I  did  not  know  it. 

Virginia. 
You  were  better  off  then  than  you  are  now. 


98  COMEDIES  FOR   AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Ee:n^est. 
I  was  !  for  you  were  kinder.     Those  were  the 
days  when  you  used  to  say  :  ^'  Cousin  Ernest, 
come  and  make  love  to  me  ! "     You  don't  say 
that  any  more,  now. 

ViEGiisriA. 

I  do  not.  But  come,,  my  poor  Ernest,  what 
folly  this  is  !  If  you  would  only  stop  loving  me, 
I  should  like  you  so  much  better.  Affection 
doesn't  improve  your  personal  appearance,  my 
dear.  You  make  most  horrid  faces  to  accompany 
your  compliments.  Seriously,  though,  you  are 
spoiling  my  visit  for  me.  I  came  here  to  have  a 
good  time ;  to  see  you  and  my  aunt ;  and  no 
sooner  have  I  arrived  than  you  begin  talking  to 
me  in  this  disagreeable  way.  You  must  not  make 
love  to  me.  We  are  very  good  friends  ;  I  love 
you  as  a  cousin.  Love,  Ernest !  Why,  it's  like 
taking  a  newspaper — I  might  discontinue  my 
subscription  at  any  time.  But  friendship — it  is  a 
precious  book,  that  we  read  and  re-read  a  hun- 
dred times,  and  never  grow  tired  of.  Why  should 
we  try  to  force  our  inclinations  ?  The  love  we 
seek  would  spoil  that  which  we  now  enjoy.  Comr 
you  will  be  a  good  boy,  and  obey  me. 

Eenest,  with  j^romptitude  and  decision, 
I  will  not. 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS.  99 

ViKGiKiA,  surprised. 
What? 

Eenest. 

I  mean,  I  can  not.     I  love  you,  and — 

ViKGINIA. 

Then  I'll  go  back  to  Peekskill  instanter. 

Eritest. 
You  can't.     I  saw  your  coachman  pass  the 
window  just  this  moment.     He  is  undoubtedly 
gone  to  the  tavern,  which  is  half  a  mile  down  the 
road. 

Virginia. 

Then,  if  I've  got  to  stay,  we'll  settle  this  at 
once.  I  hate  you.  I  detest  you.  I  shall  always 
continue  to  hate  and  detest  you  ! 

Erkest. 
Virginia — cousin  ! 

ViRGiJ^iA,  not  at  all  mollified. 
Don't  come  near  me. 

Eri^est. 
V  But- 

VlRGINIA. 

No! 

She  arises,  walks  swiftly  to  the  mirror,  and  removes  her 
hat,  which,  being  of  the  Gainsborough  pattern,  lends  a  rakish 
air  to  the  wearer.     Its  removal  enables  her  to  look  consistently 


100  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

languid,  and  she  throws  herself  into  a  large  arn:i-chair  to  the 
right  of  the  table,  and  tries  to  pose  for  a  martyr.  The  unfor- 
timate  Ernest  pauses  in  a  moody  promenade  from  end  to  end 
of  the  room,  and  turns  to  address  her.  Immediate  resumption 
of  hostilities. 

Eekest. 
Look  here,  Virginia. 

VlRGIN^IA. 
I  will  not  look  there,  sir.     I  am  your  yictim. 
Don't  speak  to  me.     You've  put  me  all  out  of 
sorts. 

Ernest,  on  the  left  of  the  table. 
You  must  hear  me  !     My  life  is  at  your  feet — 

Virginia  looks  down  at  the  tiny  tip  of  her  shoe,  resting 
comfortably  on  a  brioche,  as  if  to  verify  the  assertion.  Her 
lover,  however,  refuses  to  take  any  notice  of  this  small  outrage, 
and  proceeds : 

I  will  make  you  the  tenderest  of  husbands — 

ViEGiis^iA,  starting  to  her  feet  in  horror. 
Husbands  !    The  audacity  of  the  wretch  ! 

Erkest. 
Well,  suppose — 

ViRGiJi^iA,  tragically  pacing  the  room. 
Leave  me,  sir  !    I  will  bear  this  no  longer. 

Eri^'est. 
At  least,  pardon  me  if  I — 


COURTSHIP  ^YlTy^  ^'ARIaTIONS,  101 

ViEGIKIA. 

There's  no  if  about  it.  You  have.  But  I 
will  not  pardon  you. 

Eekest,  immovable. 
What  a  fool  I've  been  !     Oh — there,  there — 
I'm  going.     You  see  I'm  going. 

ViRGii^iA,  unable  to  see  anything  of  the  sort. 
Then  what  are  you  stopping  there  for  ? 

Erkest,  franhly. 
To  look  at  you.     You  are  so  deucedly  pretty 
that  way. 

Upon  this  he  prudently  retires  through  the  left  upper  door- 
way just  as  Virginia  returns  to  her  arm-chair.  Left  alone,  the 
young  lady  laughs  quietly  to  herself  for  a  moment,  and  then 
looks  serious.  Her  cheeks  flush,  apparently  with  indignation, 
and  she  indulges  in  a  brief  and  fragmentary  soliloquy. 

VlRGIl!TIA. 

The  wretch  !  [  With  satisfaction']  I  did  well 
to  laugh  at  him.  [With  a  slight  touch  of  com- 
punction]  Perhaps  I  laughed  a  little  too  much. 
[  With  an  air  of  judicial  abstractionl  For,  after 
all,  he  couldn't  help  it.  [Softening]  Poor  Er- 
nest !     [  Quite  melted]  Poor  dear  ! 

The  left  upper  door  softly  opens,  and  the  head  of  the  exile 
appears.  This  movement  seems  to  be  inopportune  on  his  part, 
for,  as  soon  as  his  cousin  perceives  it,  her  face  clouds  over 


iO*^  :    ;  (^OMEDIJrs  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

again.     The  unwelcome  youth  enters,  however,  and  advances 
to  the  fray.     His  reception  is  not  encouraging. 

ViRGIlflA. 

Ernest !    You  back  ? 

Erkest,  zvith  resolute  cheerfulness. 
Yes.  You  see.  Come,  don't  be  so  tragic. 
I  generally  go  when  I'm  boun — I  mean,  wlien 
I'm  sent  away.  I  went  when  you  told  me  to.  I 
saw  it  was  best.  Anger  sat  enthroned  ujDon  your 
bang.  I  went  out  on  the  lawn,  and  I  hadn't 
taken  two  steps  before  uj)  flew  a  little  bird — yes, 
a  little  bird !  He  flew  first  right,  and  then  left, 
and  then  he  whistled  three  times.  If  that  wasn't 
an  omen,  I  don't  know  what  is.  It  was  an  omen. 
And  in  obedience  to  it  I  return. 

Virginia,  puzzled. 
But  I  don't  understand — 

Ernest. 
Oil,  but  I  do.  That  little  bird  didn't  whistle 
for  nothing.  He  meant  to  say  to  me  :  '^Look 
here,  you're  a  nice  sort  of  a  fellow,  to  give  it  up 
like  this  !  Because  your  cousin  frowns  and  tells 
you  to  leave  her  Avhen  you  say  you  love  her,  you 
quietly  put  on  your  hat  and  go  !  Bah  !  that's  the 
kind  of  thing  you  must  expect  in  love.  Go  back 
and  begin  again.  Go  on  worse  than  ever.  She 
expects  you — " 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS.  103 

ViEGiNiA,  mdignantly, 
Slie  does  not ! 

Eri^est,  undisturled. 
I'm  only  telling  you  what  the  bird  said.    Talk 
to  liim.      "Go  back,  old  fellow,"  he  went  on, 
^'and  try  it  again."     So  I'm  back.     Charge  it  to 
the  dickey-bird. 

VlEGIl^IA. 

And  you  think  your  bird  and  your  impudence 
will  have  any  effect  on  me  ? 

Eri!?"est,  placidly. 
Can't  say.     Hope  so. 

Virginia,  rising  ivith  a  nervous  start. 
Ernest !  you'll  drive  me  crazy — no,  you  won't 
— you'll  make  me  cry  !     Oh,  dear  !    Why,  Ernest 
— just  put  yourself  in  my  place. 

Erkest. 
In  your  place  ? 

Virgikia. 
Yes— no,  that  is.      I  don't  mean  literally— 
that  would  be  funny.     Courtship  with  variations. 

Erkest,  meditatively. 
In  your  place  ! 

Virginia. 
Well,  yes  !     In  my  place.     And  then  perhaps 
you'd  find  out,  sir,  that  adoration  may  be  torture 


104  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

to  a  woman.  Of  wliat  do  you  suppose  my  heart 
is  made,  if  you  think  I  enjoy  haying  you  batter 
at  its  portal  in  this  fashion  ?     [She  crosses  L.  ] 

ERIiTEST. 

I  suppose  it's  made  of  some  pretty  tough  ma- 
terial. 

ViEGINIA. 

You  do  ?  Well,  come,  we'll  see  how  you  like 
it  yourself.  I'm  going  to  convince  you — this  in- 
stant. It  is  I  who  will  make  love  to  you,  \^8he 
comes  hach  to  the  table,] 

EEiq-EST. 

Good  joke. 

Virginia. 

You  think  so,  do  you  ?  Well,  you'll  see.  I 
am  going  to  pay  court  to  you  from  now  to  sun- 
down, without  pity  or  remorse.  You  shall  be  the 
lady  fair,  and  I  the  enamored  knight.  And  take 
care  of  yourself,  my  lady  ! 

Ernest. 
Good  idea. 

Virginia. 

Yes,  but — one  thing.  I  want  to  gain  some 
substantial  results  by  this  operation. 

Ernest. 
If  you  go  about  your  business  properly,  you'll 
gain  7ne.     I'm  a  pretty  substantial  result. 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS.  105 

ViRGiiTiA,  seating  herself  on  the  left  of  talle, 
Nonsense  !     But  see — the  game  is  to  close  at 
dinner-time — at  six  o'clock.     And  from  that  time 
to  the  end  of  my  visit  here,  you  are  not  to  say  one 
single  word  of  love  to  me.     Do  you  promise  ? 

Eri^est. 
Yes — unless — 

VlRGIiq"IA. 

Unless  ? 

ERiq"EST. 

Unless  you  ask  me  to. 

Virginia,  with  sarcastic  merriment, 
I  accept  that  condition.     Unless  I  ask  you  to. 
Well,  then — oh,  one  word  more  !    You — 

Eri^est. 
Well? 

VlRGIJ^I  A . 

You  won't  take  any  unfair  advantage  of  your 
position  ? 

Ernest. 
Certainly  not. 

Virginia. 

I  mean — don't  introduce  me  to  any  type  of 
lady  that  I  haven't  met  before. 

Ernest,  einphatically. 
I  won't.     Don't  be  afraid.     I'll  take  you  for  a 
model . 


106  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

VlRGIN^IA. 

Ladies  don't  pay  compliments,  sir !  This 
won't  do.  We  must  have  a  forfeit.  Every  time 
you  forget  your  role  of  lady  fair,  you  shall  pay 
me — let  us  see — what  have  you  in  your  pockets  ? 

Erkest. 
Here  are  ten  silver  dollars. 

VlRGIiflA. 

Do  you  want  them  ? 

Ernest. 
No,  glad  to  get  rid  of  them. 

Virginia. 

Well,  then,  each  time  that  you  forget  your- 
self, you  shall  pay  me  one  of  these ;  proceeds  to 
be  devoted  to  the  Home  for  Indigent  and  Vener- 
able Females  at  Peekskill.  I'm  one  of  the  direc- 
tors. There  are  ten  ^ '  lady  directors  "  of  the  Home, 
and  some  day  we  expect  to  get  an  Indigent  and 
Venerable  Female  to  put  in  it .  So  these  are  your 
forfeits. 

Ernest. 

All  right.  But  what's  sauce  for  an  Indigent 
and  Venerable  Female  is  sauce  for  a  young  and 
lovely  one .  What  are  you  to  forfeit  to  me  if  you 
forget  that  you  are  a  gentleman  ? 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS.  107 

VlKGIKIA. 

Well,  what  ?    What  do  you  suggest  ? 

Erkest. 
Hm  !     Say — say,  for  instance,  a  kiss — 

ViKGiKiA,  energetically  negative. 
Ko  !  no  !  no  !  no  I 

Eri^est. 
Why  not  ? 

Virginia. 
Do  you  estimate  a  kiss  from  me  at  one  dollar 

only  ? 

Ermest. 

By  no  means.  Its  value  is  not  to  be  esti- 
mated. I  don't  even  attempt  it.  The  dollar  is 
merely  a  counter — an  arbitrary  representative  of 
value.  But  if  you  are  talking  on  a  business  basis, 
I  know  an  old  woman  who  could  be  induced  to 
go  to  your  Home.  I'll  throw  her  in.  Does  that 
satisfy  you  ? 

Virginia  . 

No! 

Ernest. 

All  right  then.  The  fight  is  declared  off,  and 
the  treaty  abrogated.  I  shall  return  to  my  la- 
bors. 

ViRGimA. 

Oh,  dear,  no  !     I  can't  have  that.     And,  any- 


108  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR   ACTING. 

way — there  can't  be  any  danger.     I  can  rely  on 
myself,  on  my  skill,  and  my — 

Erkest. 
Charms. 

ViEGIKIA. 

A  compliment !     Pay  me  a  forfeit. 

Ernest. 
Time's  not  called  yet . 

Virginia. 
Never  mind.  I  don't  want  to  bankrupt  you 
so  soon.  You'll  lose  your  silver  counters  soon 
enough.  But  now — it's  all  understood,  is  it  ? 
The  play  is  cast — we  know  our  roles  ?  Then  up 
goes  the  curtain.  [She  touches  a  bell  on  the  ta- 
Ne.]  Now,  then,  let  the  company  remember 
their  cues.  [Rising  and  bowing  to  an  imaginary 
public.']  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  ^^  Courtship  with 
Variations,"  comedy  in  one  act,  by  a  collabora- 
tion. 

And  she  reseats  herself.  The  exponent  of  the  opposing 
role  takes  the  chair  on  the  other  [R.]  side  of  the  table,  and 
for  a  silent  minute  or  two  both  appear  to  be  absorbed  in  re- 
flection. It  is  the  truce  before  the  battle.  After  another 
moment,  Ernest  steals  a  sly  glance  at  his  antagonist,  and 
surprises  her  in  the  act  of  doing  the  same  thing.  After  this, 
there  is  more  silence,  and  considerable  fidgeting  in  both  chairs. 
At  last  Virginia  whispers  to  herself,  by  way  of  relief: 

He's  got  to  speak,  some  time  or  other. 


COURTSHIP  WITH   VARIATIONS.  109 

He,  however,  does  not  seem  to  think  so.  Struck  by  a  sud- 
den idea,  he  reaches  for  the  diminutive  work-basket  on  the  ta- 
ble, and  placidly  begins  a  wild  travesty  of  crocheting.  The 
owner  of  the  basket  looks  on  the  ruin  of  her  handiwork  with 
some  dissatisfaction,  but  does  not  venture  to  interfere.  She 
once  more  takes  refuge  in  soliloquy  : 

Ten  counters — ten  kisses — it's  too  much,  by 
nine,  at  least.  I've  got  to  do  something.  Come, 
to  work ! 

And  with  a  desperate  effort  she  rises  and  marches  around 
behind  the  table,  to  the  calm  artist  in  crochet,  who  raises  his 
eyes  languidly  and  continues  to  tangle  her  worsted.  She  ad- 
dresses him : 

VlEGIi^IA. 

Cousin,  are  you  very  clever  ? 

EE]srEST,  languidly  croclieting. 

Ra-ather ! 

Virginia. 

Not  exceptionally  so,  I  suppose  ? 

Eri^test. 
Not  more  so  than — [his  eye  falls  on  his  count- 
ers'\ — most  people. 

ViRGiisriA,  leaning  over  the  lack  of  his  chair. 
Well,  if  you're  clever  at  all,  tell  me  why  it  is 
I  am  happy  just  at  this  very  moment. 

Erj^est,  femininely  loved. 
Oh,  dear  !    I'm  sure  I  don't  know. 


110  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

ViKGIKIA. 
You  don't !    Well,  I'll  tell  you.     I'm  happy 
because  I  haA^e  an  opportunity  of  telling  you  that 
there  are  two  things  about  you  that  I  have  always 
admired — your  eyes. 

Eki^est,  in  a  quiet  aside. 
Guying,  is  she  ? 

Virginia. 
Let  me  lift  your  hair  off  your  forehead — so  ! 
Ah  !  you  look  well  so.    Pine  forehead,  well-arched 
brows — ^how  is  it  I  never  noticed  them  before  ? 
Nose — straight.     Greek  type. 

Ernest. 
These  are  what  you  call  compliments,  I  sup- 
pose ? 

Virginia. 

I'm  always  particular  in  the  matter  of  noses. 
Let's  see.  Chin — quite  correct.  Cheek-bones — 
not  too  high  and  not  too  low. 

Ernest. 
Sounds  like  a  description  for  the  benefit  of 
the  police. 

Virginia. 

And  your  hand — quite  a  lady's  hand.  Long 
and  slender — and  dimples,  too ;  upon  my  word, 
dimj^les  !  [Aside'\  Oh,  it's  no  use. 


COURTSHIP  WITH   VARIATIONS.  HI 

For  this  broadside  of  compliments  proves  a  dead  fail- 
ure. The  victim  lies  back  in  his  chair  and  plies  his  crochet- 
needles,  complacently  smiling.  So  far,  he  seemingly  enjoys 
being  wooed.  Virginia  sits  down  on  the  extreme  left  and 
meditates.  Her  eye  lights  on  the  jardiniere  in  the  window, 
and  it  supplies  her  with  an  idea.  She  rises,  crosses  to  the 
right-hand  upper  corner,  and  plucks  a  rose. 

Eekest,  suddenly  and  ferociously, 
Yow-oo-oo  ! 

ViEGiKiA,  at  the  jardiniere. 
What's  the  matter  ? 

Eri^est. 
I've  stuck  your  inf — I  mean   your  crochet- 
needle  into  my  hand. 

ViEGiHiA,  unmoved  hy  the  catastrophe. 
Never  mind,  dear  ;  go  on  crocheting. 

Eri!^est,  aside. 
Damn  crocheting ! 

Virginia,  crossing  hach  to  him. 
Let  me  put  this  in  your  buttonhole,  cousin, 
there  ! — ah,  no ;  that's  a  little  too  red.  We'll 
tone  it  down.  [Crossing  again  to  jardiniere  and 
back.]  Here's  a  tuberose.  Ah!  now  you  are — 
ravishing  !  You  are  a  picture  !  [Standing  off  to 
admire  him.] 


112       c03iedies  for  amateur  acting. 

Ernest. 
I'm  a  daisy,  am  I  ? 

Virginia. 
Yon  are — oh  !  ^vhat  a  daisy  you  are  !     [^Clasp- 
ing  her  hands.'] 

Ernest,  aside. 
Guying  again  !    Let  us  resume  the  offensive. 
\^Aloud'\  Oh,  dear ! 

Virginia. 
What  is  it  now  ? 

Ernest,  spilling  the  loorh-Mshet. 
I  don't  know — I  feel — so — oh  ! 

Virginia. 
So  what  ? 

Ernest. 

Oh,  you've  put  me  all  out  of  sorts  !    I  feel — 

hysterical ! 

Virginia,  to  herself. 

He's  making  fun  of  me, 

Ernest,  feeUy. 
0  cousin !    Please — send  for  a  doctor. 

Virginia,  luith  masculine  indifference. 
Nonsense,  my  dear  child  ;  you'll  get  over  it — 
you'll  get  over  it. 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS.  113 

Erkest,  plaintively. 
Indeed,  I  won't.     I  feel  worse  now. 

Virginia. 

Let's  see.    [Putting  7ier  hand  on  his  forehead.  ] 
Poor  dear  !  your  head  is  hot — absolutely  feverish  ! 

Erkest,  unwarily. 

Yes — that's  it. 

ViRGiiiriA,  seizing  her  opportunity. 
Yes,  dear.      [Soothingly]    Let  me   keep  my 
hand  here — it  will  cool  your  forehead. 

Eri^est,  equal  to  the  situation. 
'No,   my  dear.      [Removing  the  cooler.]     It 
wouldn't  be  proper. 

ViRGiiS'iA,  to  herself,  as  she  retires. 
It  won't  do.     I  must  try  something  stronger. 
For  a  debutant,  he  takes  care  of  himself  pretty 
well.     [Aloud]    Ernest,  do  you  know  of  what  I 
am  thinking  ? 

Erkest. 

Of  nothing,  probably. 

Virginia,  impulsively. 
The  impertinent  fellow  !     [Aside,  recollecting 
herself]   But  no.     It's  his  part.     That's  the  way 
we  women  do.     [She  returns  to  the  attach.]     No, 

8 


114         COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Ernest,  I  was  thinking  of  your  youth — of  the 
happy  days  when  we  were  children.  Have  you 
forgotten  them  ?  [Pensively^  We  were  always 
together  then.  We  had  no  other  friends.  We 
lived  a  life  apart  from  other  children.  You  were 
my  Paul,  and  I  was  your  Virginia. 

Ekkest,  heartlessly. 
Oh,  yes,  I  remember.     A  romance  in  duode- 
cimo— idyls — pastorals — the  regular  business.  But 
you  get  over  that  sort  of  thing  as  you  grow  older, 
you  know.     There  isn't  much  wear  to  it. 

ViEGiiaA,  aside. 

He    is    getting    positively    outrageous    now. 

[Aloud y   with  a  sudden  change  in  tone'\    Stay, 

Ernest,  it  is  better  that  we  should  stop  here. 

Perhaps — ^perhaps — we  have  gone  too  far  already. 

I  have  been  too  ....  reckless  in  lending  myself  to 

this  comedy.     We  must  not  play  with  love  like 

this !     [She  seats  herself,  and  rests  her  head  on 

her  hand.] 

Ernest. 

Virginia  !     [Aside]   What's  all  this  ? 

ViRGiN"iA,  nervously. 

It  is  not  impossible  that — without  knowing  it 

— that  my  heart  should  cease  to  be  insensible — 

that  my  laughter  of  this  morning  should  change 

to  tears  before  the  evening.     Even  now,  it  seems 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS.  115 

to  me,  I  tremble  at  the  thought  of  the  strange 
game  we  are  playing.  What  if,  in  this  jest,  I 
should  betray  myself  ?  [  Growing  more  and  more 
excited.']  What  if  —  I  learned  to  love  you? 
[Aside]   Well  see,  this  time  ! 

Ernest,  on  Ms  feet. 
What !  Is  it  true  ?  You  might — you  might 
— loYe  me  ?  Yes,  yes,  for  /  love  you  !  Cousin — 
Virginia — my  own  !  Don't  check  this  impulse  of 
your  heart — it  speaks  the  truth.  Why  should 
you  not  give  me  your  heart,  as  you  have  taught 
me  to  give  you — 

Virginia,  with  a  peal  of  laughter. 
One  dollar ! 

Ernest,  taJcen  abacTc. 
One  dollar  ! 

Virginia. 
Yes — a  counter — a  forfeit.    Caught  this  time. 

Ernest,  solemnly  reseating  himself 
'Twasn't  fair. 

Virginia. 

Why  not  ? 

Ernest. 

Because  I  wasn't  caught. 

Virginia. 
You  weren't  .... 


116  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

ERl>rEST. 

I  wasn't  cauglit.     No. 

ViRGIJTIA. 

Then  why  did  you  respond  in  that  way  ? 

Erxest. 
Well,  my  dear,  the  circumstances — after  what 
you  have  said,  you  know — politeness  required — I 
could  do  no  less. 

ViRGIKIA. 

Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  didn't  deceive  you  ? 

Ernest. 
Not  in  the  least. 

Virginia,  luarmly. 
You  didn't  believe,  when  I  spoke  to  you  just 
now,  that  I  was  beginning  to  feel  for  you  a — a 
tender  sentiment  ? 

Ernest,  with  shameless  mendacity. 
I  did  not  believe  it. 

Virginia,  growing  excited. 
Explain  yourself,  sir  !    You  were  not  serious, 
then,  when  you  answered  me  ? 

Ernest. 
I  was  Jesting — as  you  were. 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS.  II7 

Virginia,  exploding. 
And  you  dared  !      You  had   the  audacity ! 
Ah,  now  I  believe  you  have  been  jesting  from  the 
first — this  love  you  have  always  expressed — it  was 
a  jest,  too  ! 

Eris^est,  languidly. 
You  don't  think  that. 

Virginia. 

I  do  !  Ah  !  it  is  a  good  lesson  to  me.  That 
is  the  way  we  women  are  deceived.  What  fools 
we  are  !  It  was  just  the  same  air,  the  same  accent 
— ^the  same  words,  the  same  look  of  adoration. 
'Twas  no  better  done  when  you  meant  it — but 
you  never  meant  it.  If  you  can  imitate  love  so 
weU,  you  can  never  have  felt  it.  I  have  un- 
masked you.  We  will  settle  this  matter.  [March- 
ing from  right  to  left,  up  and  doion  the  room.] 
We'll ,  see — we'll  see  !  What !  You  don't  an- 
swer me?  No  —  you  can't!  Be  silent  —  it  is 
the  best  thing  you  can  do  !  Oh,  if  I  spoke  my 
mind — you — you — impostor  !  I  can  not  restrain 
myself  !  I'm  going — and  I'll  never — never — see 
you  again  ! 

And  she  departs,  L.  U,  E.,  like  a  small  feminine  hurricane. 
Yet  the  bang  of  the  door  seems  to  cover  something  like  a  sob. 
The  wretched  impostor  sits  still,  as  a  man  conscious  of  his  own 
iniquity.  But,  as  he  meditates,  a  puzzled  look  begins  to  over- 
spread his  features.  With  less  depression  in  his  tone  than 
becomes  the  situation,  he  murmurs  to  himself : 


118         COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Well,  I  swear  !  Well,  I  swear  !  Well,  I 
swear  !    I'll  swear  she  was  going  to  cry  ! 

The  striking  of  a  clock  and  the  simultaneous  opening  of 
the  door  disturb  his  profane  reverie.  Virginia  appears  on  the 
threshold.  She  may  have  been  "  going  to  cry,"  but  she  certainly 
shows  no  signs  of  having  yielded  to  the  impulse.  She  is  bright, 
laughing,  and  triumphant. 

ViEGIN'IA. 

Ernest,  dinner  !  The  game  is  over  !  You  re- 
member the  agreement.  I  exact  strict  adherence 
to  the  terms  therein  expressed.  From  this  time 
until  my  departure,  you  are  not  to  whisper  one 
word  of  love  to  me. 

Ernest. 
Unless  you  ask  me  to. 

Virginia,  laughing. 
Unless  I  ask  you  to — that  was  agreed. 

Ernest,  calmly. 
And  you  will  also  be  so  kind  as  to  remember 
that  I  still  retain  nine  counters,  and  that  each  of 
them  represents  a — kiss. 

Virginia,  with  icy  resignation, 
I  suppose  I  must  submit. 

Ernest. 
No. 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS.  119 

Virginia. 

What? 

Ernest. 

No.  No  doubt  it  would  be  very  delightful  to 
press  my  lips  to  your  cheek,  if  but  one  look  inyited 
me.  But  thus — No  !  your  calmness  speaks  with- 
out disguise .  The  charm  is  destroyed .  You  know, 
yourself,  the  contact  of  lips  is  nothing — it  is  the 
emotion,  the  soul  of  the  kiss,  that  I  seek. 

Virginia. 
Excuse  me,  sir.  You  may  be  doing  violence 
to  your  feelings  in  kissing  me ;  but  I  insist — I 
have  my  reasons.  At  this  price  I  shall  be  finally 
freed  from  your  importunities ;  you  shall  fulfill 
your  part  of  the  bargain.  Come,  sir,  treaties  are 
made  for  the  benefit  of  the  victor.  If  you  are 
generous — you  will  kiss  me. 

Ernest,  graver. 
Very  well — I  will  obey,  since  honor  compels 
me.     [Going  totvard  her  as  she  stands  at  ce^iter.] 
You  are  blushing. 

Virginia. 
No,  I'm  not. 

Ernest. 
Yes,  you  are,  I  say. 

Virginia,  impatiently. 
No,  sir  !    No.     I'm  ready. 


120  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

The  victim  turns  her  cheek  to  the  recalcitrant  conqueror, 
who  exacts  his  tribute  with  hesitating  reluctance.  Virginia 
shivers  nervously,  and  Ernest  frowns  darkly,  like  a  captive 
pirate  on  the  point  of  execution. 

Ernest. 
This  is — cruel.     But  it  must  be  done,  and  one 
gets  accustomed  to  everything.     Eight  more. 

VlRGIlS'IA. 

No,  I  beg  of  you  ! 

Ernest. 

Eight  kisses,  if  you  please. 

Virginia. 
But  just  now  you  didn't  care  about  them  at  all. 

Ernest. 
But  just  now  you  cared  about  them  a  good 
deal. 

Virginia. 
But,  then — since — 0  Ernest — please  don't  in- 
sist. 

Ernest. 
Why  not  ?    Is  it  that — you  love  me  ? 

Virginia. 
No — not  a  bit.     What  is  troubling  me  is — 
are — those  eight  counters. 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS.  121 

Erkest. 
You  don't  like  the  gross  amount  of  kissing 
they  represent  ? 

VlRGII^IA. 

JSTo. 

Ernest. 

Well.     There's  a  way  to  stop  all  that  kind  of 
thing. 

Virginia. 
What  is  it  ? 

Ernest. 
Marry  !    'Twon't  trouble  you  any  more  after 
that. 

Virginia,  looking  down. 
Isn't  there  any  other  way  ? 

Ernest. 
N'ot  that  I  know  of. 

Virginia. 
Oh,  dear ! 

A  pause, 

Ernest. 
Come,  Virginia,  decide. 

Virginia. 
Decide — what  ? 

Ernest. 
Whether  you'll  marry  me  or  not. 


122  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Virgi:n^ia. 
Who  was  talking  about  marrying  ? 

Ernest,  with  husiness-lihe  precision, 
I  was ;  and  you  were,  too . 

Virginia. 
"Well,  don't  talk  any  more — at  least  not  to-day 
— to-morrow. 

Erkest. 

And  what  do  you  wish  me  to  do  to-morrow  ? 

Virginia. 
Oh,  you  may — you  may  ask  any  questions  you 
want  to.     And    [ivitli  a  smile]    I  may  answer 
them. 

Ernest. 

I  haven't  any  questions  to  ask. 

Virginia. 

You  haven't  ? 

Ernest. 
No.  Virginia,  we  set  out  to  play  "  Courtship 
with  Variations,"  and  play  it  we  shall.  It  may 
be  a  shade  frivolous  and  foolish,  our  comedy ; 
but  it  is  I  who  have  the  dangerous  role — that  of 
the  ingenue.  You  are  the  lover — I  am  the  true 
and  tender  woman.     Make  your  proposal. 


COURTSHIP  WITH  VARIATIONS.  123 

Virginia,  with  startling  suddenness, 
I  will !     [Gravely']    Sir!    Kecognizing  in  you 
the  possessor  of  many  excellent  qualities  ;  regard- 
ing you  as  a  young  man  of  amiability,  good  moral 
character,  and — 

Ernest. 
And? 

Virginia. 

Vast  pertinacity,  together  with  some  charms 
of  person — regarding  you  thus,  I  say,  a  young 
friend  of  mine  desires  that  I  should  speak  in  her 
name.  She  finds  existence  a  sad  feast,  when  un- 
shared with  any  other  loving  heart.  She  feels 
that,  to  be  truly  comfortable,  affection  must  sit 
opposite  one  at  table  and  carve  the  roast  beef. 
Will  you  undertake  the  discharge  of  these  func- 
tions ?    Come,  blush,  for  form's  sake,  and  say— 

Ernest,  with  ingenuous  confusion. 

Yes! 

They  slowly  sidle  toward  one  another,  and  at  the  point  of 
meeting,  with  the  suddenness  of  an  electric  shock,  they  resume 
their  personal  identities,  which  they  appear  about  to  fuse  in  a 
cousinly  embrace. 

Ernest,  suddenly  recollecting  himself. 

But  stop— what  am  I  doing  ?    It  was  agreed 

that  I  was  not  to  breathe  another  word  of  love  to 

you. 

Virginia. 

Unless — I  asked  you  to. 


124        comedies  for  amateur  acting. 

Erjs-est. 
Well,  do  you  ? 

Virginia,  shyly. 
Do  you  think  it  would  be  yery  much  out  of 
place  in 

Courtship  with  Variations? 

Ernest  does  not  seem  to  think  it  would. 

Quick  Curtain. 


A  TEACHER  TAUGHT. 

COMEDY    IN     ONE    ACT 
By  a.  H.  OAKES. 


CHARACTERS 


Fredeeick  Belfoet,  Ph.  D.,  Professor  of 
Inorganic  Chemistry  at  the  Metropolitan  Univer- 
sity, 85  years  old. 

Kate  TVikstanlet,  his  ward  and  pupil,  18 
years  old. 


[The  French  original  of  this  play  is  "  Le  Roman  cfuiie  Pu- 
pille,"  written  by  M.  Paul  Ferrier.] 


A   TEAOHEE   TAUGHT. 


ScEiS'E  :  Professor  Belfort's  study — a  plainly  fur- 
nished room.  Writing-table,  covered  with 
papers,  L.  C.  Door  R.  U.  E.  Bookcase  Left 
side  of  room  [not  necessarily  practicable]. 
Scientific  apparatus,  etc.,  disposed  about 
room.     General  aspect  gloomy  and  dull. 

The  Professoe,  alone. 

What's  that  I  hear  ? 

[Going  to  door  L,  U.  E.  and  speahing  off. 
Lunch  ?    For  the  sake  of — pity  ! 
Here's  my  report  not  yet  half  written,  Kitty. 
Science  and  I  are  conquering  vulgar  doubt. 
And  Luncheon  comes  to  put  us  both  clean  out. 
Postpone  it,  Kitty.  [Kate  laughs,  off  stage. 

Ah  !  that  silvery  laugh  ! 
Too  much  for  science  and  for  me,  by  half. 
There,  dear,  I  promise,  next  time,  on  my  word. 
To  be  as  punctual  as  the  early  bird. 
My  life  shall  be  the  forfeit.     Yes,  I  own  it. 


128  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

I  am  "just  horrid."     Well,  you  ivill  postpone  it? 
A  half  an  hour  ? 

I  knew  she  would,  God  bless  her ! 
Too  gentle  to  the  stupid  old  Professor. 

\^He  sits  at  table  R. 
Sweet  little  Kate  !    I'm  doing  wrong,  in  truth. 
To  let  her  waste  the  blossom  of  her  youth 
In  this  dull  house,  slaving  for  dull  old  me. 
And  yet  I  can't — 
[  With  sudden  resolution'] 

Hang  it,  I  must ! 
[Tunis  to  Ms  writing']     Let's  see  ! 
"  This  gas  is  strictly  not  a  gas,  but  rather — " 
Look  here.  Professor,  you're  a  precious  father. 
These  serious  duties  you've  assumed,  are  you 
Quite  sure  you've  conscientiously  gone  through  ? 
The  child  of  thirteen  summers  is  to-day 
A  woman— a  "young  lady."     Come,  we'll  say 
You've  taught  her  Latin,  Greek,  and  Mathematics, 
Algebra,  Botany,  and  Hydrostatics, 
History,  Geography,  and  Physics— verily. 
You've  done  this  thoroughly — and  unnecessarily. 
0  wise  preceptor  !  with  pedantic  goad 
Urging  the  tender  mind  to  bear  this  load. 
Putting  a  sweet  child's  youth  upon  the  shelf 
To  make  her  like  your  sciolistic  self. 
At  cost  of  happiness  growing  over- wise — 
She  can't  be  happy  thus. 

She  has  blue  eyes 
And  golden  hair,  and  cheeks  of  rose  and  white, 


A  TEACHER   TAUGHT.  129 

And  I  have  set  her  Latin  themes  to  write  ! 
She's  sweet   eighteen  ;    she's  pretty,    and  she's 

gay- 

My  Kitty's  probably  inclined  to  play. 
She'll  learn  to  love  balls,  dancing,  admiration ; 
And  then,  of  course,  come  young  men,  and  flirta- 
tion. 
They'll  find  her  pretty.    That  I  must  expect,  too. 
Further,  they'll  say  so. 

This  I  may  object  to. 
Well,  well,  a  selfish  gardener,  my  flower, 
My  one,  I've  hidden  in  a  gloomy  bower — 
Eobbed  it  of  freedom,  as  of  light  and  air  ! 
Knowing  it  dear,  forgot  that  it  was  fair. 
Yes,  she  must  wed.     And  may  the  happy  wife 
Forget  the  girl's  sad  solitary  life. 
And  may  she  find  some  not  impossible  he. 
Young,  gay — the  very  opposite  of  me. 
And  may  the  lucky  devil  love  my  Kate 
More  wisely,  and  as  well  as  I — 

[Loohi7ig  at  clocJc]     So  late  ! 
Oh  !  my  report !     Let's  see,  again  no  use  ? 
Science  and  gas  may  both  go  to  the — deuce. 

Unter  Kate  L.  U.  E. 

Kate. 
May  I  come  in  ? 

The  Professor. 

Of  course  ! 


130  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Kate. 

Here  is  a  letter 
Marked    "most-  important" — but,  perhaps    Fd 

better 
Let  the  epistle  with  my  luncheon  wait 
Till  the  report — 

The  Professor. 

Unscientific  Kate  ! 
Give  me  the  note,  drop  that  irreverent  air, 
And  [reads'] — hm-hm-hm  !     This,  dear,  is  your 
affair. 

Kate. 
Mine  ?    Who's  the  writer  ? 

The  Professor. 

Buckingham  de  Brown, 
My  pupil,  he  who  was  to  settle  down 
And  study  chemistry — which  branch  has  missed 
A  very  dandified  young  scientist, 
Whose  careless  laugh  bids  serious  thought  avaunt — 
He's  just  the  very  husband  that  you  want . 

Kate. 
The  husband  ! 

The  Professor. 
Yes,  the  very  husband  !     Pray 
Listen  to  me,  my  dear.     This  very  day 
I  had  recalled  a  duty  long  neglected  ; 
That  letter  is  no  more  than  I'd  expected. 


A  TEACHER  TAUGHT.  131 

Kate. 
But,  if  you  please,  wliat  is  all  this  to  me  ? 

The  Peofessor. 
That's  true,  I  didn't  mention.     Well,  you  see, 
Just  listen  then  to  Buckingham  :  ^'  My  dear, 
My  most  respected  master  '^ — So  far,  clear  ? 

Kate. 
Quite . 

The  Peoeessor. 

Well,  you  see,  I  couldn't  but  remember 
That  you  were  May,  if  I  was — ah — September. 
Not  with  my  logical  train  of  thought  to  bore 

you— 
I  felt  that  I  must  seek  a  husband  for  you. 
Of  course,  you  notice  the  necessity  ? 

Kate,  crossing  to  L, 
You're  in  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me  ? 
So,  sir,  to  settle  my  hymeneal  fate, 
Till  long  past  noon  you've  let  my  luncheon  wait  ? 

The  Professor. 

Kitty ! 

Kate,  crossing  R. 
I  thought  you  deep  in  your  report — 
Had  I  suspected  anything  of  this  sort — 

The  Peofessor. 
Indeed,  I — 


132       comedies  for  amateur  acting. 

Kate. 

No  excuse  !  it's  rankest  treason 
Against  my  welfare,  without  rhyme  or  reason. 
Why  si^end  the  time  Science  might  better  fill 
In  marrying  me  off  against  my  will  ? 

The  Professoe. 
Aha  !  I  see.     The  persecuted  ward — 
The  cruel  guardian — the  unwelcome  lord. 
What,  would  the  fairest  maiden  ever  seen 
Braid  the  gray  tresses  of  St.  Katharine  ? 

Kate. 
/  didn't  say  that. 

The  Professor. 

Then  the  bridegroom  meant 
Is  hateful  ? 

Kate. 

Not  quite  that — indifferent. 

The   Professor. 
The  ground  for  your  objection  I  can't  see 

Quite  clear. 

Kate. 

You  wish  to  marry  him  to  me  ? 

The  Professor. 
He  asks  it. 

Kate. 

Well,  it  shall  be  as  you  say: 
You  are  my  guardian — I  can  but  obey. 


A  TEACHER  TAUGHT.  133 

The  Professor. 

My  dear,   your  choice   shall    be  your  otvti,    of 

course. 
I  don't  habitually  use  brute  force. 
But  see — I  am  your  guardian  and  your  tutor  : 
From    these    two    standpoints    do    I  view   your 

suitor. 
I  judge  him  by  known  quantities,  and  find 
The  youth  quite  tolerable — never  mind  ! 
I'm  thirty-five,  old,  crabbed,  and  pedantic; 
You  are  eighteen,  and  possibly  romantic. 
You've  formed  your  own  ideal  of  a  lover — 
You    want    your    romance  —  Buckingham   goes 

over. 
So  much  for  him . 

Kate. 

I  think  you  take  a  pleasure 
In  planning  to  dismiss  me,  sir  ! 

The  Professor. 

My  treasure ! 
Dismiss  you  !     That  is,  to  dismiss  the  light. 
The  life  of  my  poor  house — to  exile  outright 
The  gracious  spirit,  the  delightful  fay. 
Whose  magic  wiles  the  weary  hours  away. 
Only  at  duty's  bidding  am  I  fain 
To  break  my  willing  little  captive's  chain. 
I  shall  be  lonely  when  you  leave  me — 


134       comedies  for  amateur  acting. 

Kate. 

Who 
Has  spoken  of  leaving  you  ? 

The  Professor. 

Not  I,  nor  you, 
But  common  sense  and  reason.     Fate  lays  out 
The  path  of  every  mortal.     You  forget 
How  long  we've  walked  together,  you  and  I. 
It's  more  than  time  we  separated. 

Kate. 

Why? 

The   Professor. 
"Why  ? "     Do  you  ask  ?    My  task  is  ended  now. 
My  friend,  your  dying  father,  made  me  vow 
That  I  would  take  his  place — 

Kate. 

And  well,  dear  friend, 
You  have  kept  your  vow.     Heaven  took  liim,  but 

to  lend 
A  dearer  father  to  the  lonely  child. 
Who  wept,    abandoned ;    learned    to    love,    and 

smiled. 
I  have  never  known  a  parent,  saving  you. 
Nor  ever  felt  the  loss,  nor  ever  knew 
Where  else  to  bring  the  love  and  gratitude 
I  owe  to  you,  so  tender  and  so  good. 
In  all  my  childish  joys  and  sorrows — 


A  TEACHER  TAUGHT.  135 

The   Professoe. 

Crying ! 
Kitty,  my  dear  !     Please  don't !     I'm  only  trying 
To  make  tilings  pleasant. 

Kate,  still  soiling. 

Oil,  indeed,  quite  charming  ! 

The  Professor. 
I  can't  see  that  the  prospect's  so  alarming. 
You'll  have  a  quiet,  obedient  little  spouse. 
And  stay  and  share  the  old  Professor's  house. 
And  he  sha'n't  part  us. 

Kate. 
But  I  do  not  see 
Why  there  is  any  need  of  marrying  me. 

The  Professor. 
My  duty.     I  have  told  you  once,  my  dear — 

Your  happiness. 

Kate. 

My  happiness  is  here. 

The  Professor. 
To  that  kind  compliment  I'm  quite  alive. 
But  ah  !     I  know  I'm  old — 

Kate,  laughing. 

Yes !    Thirty— 


136  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

The  Pkofessor. 

Five ! 
Full  five-and-thirty. 

Kate. 
Five-and-thirty  you'd 
Think  marked  the  confines  of  decrepitude. 
My  eyes  may  play  me  false,  but  yet  among 
The  younger  men  you  seem  to  me  as  young. 
And  you  yourself  know,  I  could  never  say 
*^Papa"  to  you. 

The  Professor. 
0  flatterer,  away ! 

Kate. 
No  flattery  !     Get  some  gray  hairs  before 
I  can  believe  you  old. 

The  Professor. 

You  ask  no  more  ? 
A  gray  peruke  without  delay  I'll  don — 
One  with  a  bald  spot. 

Kate. 

Well,  that's  getting  on. 

The  Professor. 
And  then  we'll  speak  of  marrying  you  ? 

Kate. 

Oh,  come ! 
Marriage,  like  charity,  should  begin  at  home. 


A  TEACHER  TAUGHT.  137 

You  who  on  marrying  all  the  world  are  bent, 
Why  don't  yoit  marry  ? 

The  Professor. 

I  ?    That's  different. 

Kate. 
*^Do  unto  others  as  you'd  haye  them  do 
To  you."     Please  say,  is  the  reverse  not  true  ? 

The  Professor. 
A  right  sound  doctrine  !     But,  all  jest  aside, 
I've  never  married  ;  but — ^because— she  died. 

Kate. 
Oh,  pardon  me ! 

The  Professor. 

Well,  from  that  day  I  vowed 
My  life  to  study  ;  kinder  fate  allowed 
That  you  should  fill  the  heart  that  bled  for  her  : 
And  I,  by  memory  left  a  widower. 
And  by  my  love  for  you,  a  father,  thought 
My  broken  life  was  rounded — 

Kate. 

Which  you  ought 
Not !    Most  decidedly.     What  if  happiness 
Once  more  this  "broken"  life  of  yours  should 

bless. 
Can  you  think  truly  the  beloved  shade 
You  mourn  would  envy  you  ? 


138  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

The  PRorESSOB. 

But  what  fair  maid 
"Would  smile  upon  me  now  ? 

Kate. 

I  know  one  or  two 
That  I  could  mention. 

The  Professor. 

You  have  known  me  blue, 
Humdrum  and  stupid,  misanthropic,  slow  ; 
Pedant  and  bookworm,  rusty  as  a  crow  ; 
Bent  o'er  my  books — I've  almost  got  a  hunch — 
And  never  ready  at  the  hour  of  lunch. 

Kate. 
I  have  known  you  good,  and  modest,  too,  about  it; 
Wise   without   pedantry,   though    you    seem    to 

doubt  it ; 
Kind,  and  still  kinder  than  the  world  has  known  ; 
A  kindness  shown  to,  guessed  by,  me  alone. 
And  she  would  have  just  reason  to  rejoice 
On  whom  might  fall  the  honor  of  your  choice. 

The  Professor. 
A  list  of  virtues  which  would  scarcely  steal 
The  heart  of  a  young  lady — 

^  Kate. 

I  appeal 
From  that  unrighteous  verdict.     Do  you  hold 
All  girls  so  frivolous  ? 


A  TEACHER  TAUGHT.  139 

The  Pkofessor. 

No,  not  when  they're  old. 

Kate. 
Indeed  !    Yonr  mood's  sarcastic,  sir,  to-day. 
Believe  me,  there  are  some  quite  different ! 

The  Peofessor. 

Nay ! 
Deceiver  worst  of  all,  can  even  your  flattery 
Call    me    respectable    in    my — my — cravattery  ? 

[touching  Ids  necMie.'\ 
Is  this  old  coat  with  foxy  velvet  collar 
The  fashion  ?    Wouldn't,  say,  a  half  a  dollar 
Be  well  laid  out  in  treating  to  new  soles 
These  shoes  ?    My  shirts  would  be  but  button- 
holes 
Were't  not  for  you.     And,  worst  of  all  my  faults. 
Have  I  the  faintest  notion  of  a  waltz  ? 
Of  talent,  charm,  or  grace,  have  I  one  jot  ? 
Would  yoic  take  such  a  husband  ? 

Kate. 

Well,  why  not  ? 

The  Professoe. 
Dear  child  !     You're  very  young  and  innocent. 
And  I — blind  bookworm  o'er  my  folios  ben^ — 
Have  never  told  you  life  may  yet  disclose 
Another  love  than  child  to  father  owes  ; 


140  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

And  that  some  day — but  I  liave  been  too  fast : 
I  tliouglit  you  a  woman — you're  a  child — 

Kate. 

At  last ! 
I  thought  'twould  come.     In  toto  I  deny 
The  soft  impeachment. — Child,  indeed  !    Not  I. 
I  am  a  woman  !     And  my  woman's  heart 
Has  known  that  love  already — felt  its  smart. 
I  have  had  my  romance — not  a  happy  one. 
The  sunflower  of  my  life  has  found  its  sun. 

The  Professor. 

What  —  no  —  it  can't  be!     Ah,   I   might  have 

known  ! 
Already — loving — secret  and  alone. 
And  I  guessed  nothing.     Yes,  I  see  it  now — 
Your  late  refusal.     And  I  noticed  how 
You  started  when  I  spoke.    What  could  say  more 
Clear  that  the  little  heart  had  throbbed  before  ? 
Who  is  your  hero,  then  ? — Who  is  it  ?     Say  ! 
Handsome  and  young  ?    Brilliant  and  polished — 

gay? 

And  does  he  know  that  he  has  won  possession 
Of  that  sweet  heart  ?    Come,  let's  have  full  con- 
fession ! 

Kate. 
Handsome  ? — Perhaps  !     I  know  that  he  is  good. 
Young  ? — Well,  I  think  he  could  be,  if  he  would. 
Less  brilliant  than  profound  ;  less  gay  than  true. 


A  TEACHER  TAUGHT.  141 

As  far  as  I'm  concerned,  he^-oh,  he'll  do  ! 

I  have  known  him  at  your  house.     I  have  loyed 

him — well — 
Always  !     But  yet  I've  never  dared  to  tell. 
And  now  I'm  very  much  afraid  I  sha'n't 
Unless  he — helps  me — when  he  sees — I  can't ! 
I  think  he'll  have  to  guess — I'd  rather  not. 
I'm  going  now — to  keep  that  luncheon  hot ! 

[Exit  precipitately  L.  U.  E, 

The  Professoe,  alone, 
Kate  !    I — confound  it — I  am  dreaming — no  ! 
Yes  !     What's  the  lucky  devil's  name  ? — don't  go  ! 
His  name  !     By  Jove  !    I  must  have  fallen  asleep, 
And  dreamed.     It  strikes  me  I  have  dreamed  a — 

heap. 
No,  I'm  awake.     My  wits  have  ta'en  an  airing. 
Asleep  or  crazy  ?    Neither  !     I  am  staring, 
Stark  wide  awake.     Fates  adverse  and  propitious  ! 
What  hear  I  ?     Things  impossibly  delicious. 
Yet  real — unpermissible  and  real. 
That  is  important.     I  am  her  ideal. 
Is  it — any  other  fellow,  if  not  me  ? 
No  !     Can't  mistake  it — it's  too  plain  to  see 
She  loves  me.     I  am  sure  of  it — I  know  it. 
That's  what  she  meant.      Didn't   her  features 

show  it  ? 
And  I  ?    My  heart  I  thought  dead  all  the  while 
Is  beating  in  a  rather  lively  style. 
My  blood's  on  fire  !    I  feel  just  like  a — star. 


142  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Kate  !     Fm  in  love,  dear — more  so  than  you  are. 
But  no.     The  devil !     This  will  never  do. 
I'm  but  a  father  to  her.     'Tisn't  true — 
Poor  little  thing,  so  good,  so  innocent — 
For  love  she  takes  a  child's  fond  sentiment. 
'Tis  madness — sweet  to  me,  but  madness  still. 
And  I  must  cure  it,  cost  me  what  it  will. 

Enter  Kate,  L.  U.  E.,  with  the  luncheon. 

Kate. 
The  luncheon,  sir. 

The  Peofessoe,  huskily. 
My  daughter  ! 

Kate,  aside. 

Daughter  !    gracious  I 
His  way  of  guessing  things  is — is  vexatious  ! 

The  Peofessoe. 
Come  here,  my  child. 

Kate. 
I  come. 

The  Peofessoe. 

I've  understood. 

Kate,  aside. 
Upon  my  word,  I  rather  thought  he  would. 


A  TEACHER  TAUGHT.  143 

The  Professoe. 
I  know  your  hero. 

Katb,  aside. 
This  is  perspicacity 
Indeed ! 

The  Peofessor. 

Although  it  took  some  slight  audacity 
To  recognize  the  flattering  portrait.     Yet, 
My  Kate,  think  calmly  if  your  heart  is  set 
Upon  a  love  that  may  be,  at  the  most, 
A  warmer  gratitude.     I  can  but  boast 
Poor  paltry  claims,  that  your  too  kindly  eyes 
Exaggerate,  to  this  too  generous  prize. 
You  are  young,  and  louder  than  cool  reason's  voice 
Impulse  may  speak,  and  guide  a  childish  choice. 
When  the  young  heart  is  filled  with  love's  soft 

light, 
All  things  it  looks  on  catch  the  radiance  bright. 
You  scarcely  realize,  I'm  sore  afraid. 
The  shade  you  take  for  love — and  such  a  shade  ! 
But  he  you  think  you  love  knows  all  too  well 
Your  error  :  knows  his  duty  is  to  tell 
What  sacrifice,  unconscious  though  it  be, 
This  dream  entails.     A  cruel  guardian  he 
Who  thus  would  cheat  his  child.     My  little  Kate  ! 
Your  debt  of  gratitude,  with  usurer's  rate 
Of  interest,  you  paid  me  long  ago. 
If  debt  there  be,  'tis  what  to  you  I  owe. 


144  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Pride  of  my  home,  Joy  of  my  heart — oh  say, 
Is  it  a  debt  that  I  shall  ever  pay  ? 

Kate. 
Then,  my  Professor,  none  may  give  you  loye. 
Whose  eloquence  a  heart  of  stone  would  move, 
Whose  burning  words  would  render,  I  believe, 
A  Eomeo  jealous  ?     You  can  not  conceive 
A  woman's  heart  must  yield  itself  to  one 
Who  sings  of  love — as — well,  as  you  have  done  ? 

The  Pkofessok. 
But,  Kate ! 

Kate. 

You're  better  pleased  the  account  to  cast 
So  that  the  balance  to  my  side  is  passed — 
To  search  arithmetic  and  logic  through 
To  prove  by  A  plus  B  I  don't  love  you. 

The  Professoe. 

I  cry  you  mercy  ! 

Kate. 

To  your  will  I  bow. 
You  were  my  guardian  ever,  and  are  now. 
You're  wisdom's  self.  My  eigb  teen  years  are  wrong : 
Guide  then  my  bark,  since  your  own  hand's  so 

strong. 
Before  your  great  experience  I  incline. 
To  prove  how  I  mistrust  this  will  of  mine — 
Write  to  De  Brown,  then,  that  at  your  command 
I  accept  his — love — his  fortune,  and  his  hand. 


A  TEACHER  TAUGHT.  145 

The  Peofessoe. 
Do  you  accept  ? 

Kate. 

His  hand,  his  fortune — 

The  Peofessoe. 

You're 

Not  jesting  ?    He  your  husband  !    Are  you  sure  ? 

Kate. 
Why  not  ?    He's  young,  destined  to  cut  a  dash, 
Handsome — and  such  a  wee — wee — wee  mustache  ! 

The  Peofessoe. 
You  are  laughing. 

Kate. 
No.     He  is  a  goo^  parti; 
A  well-assorted  couple  we  shall  be. 
He's  of  good  family,  and,  it's  only  fair 
To  mention  also,  he's  a  millionaire. 

The  Peofessoe. 
I  know  you  better  than  to  think  you  speak 
Your  mind  in  this.      Your   judgment's  not  so 

weak 
As  that,  my  Kate.     Your  heart  is  not  so  cold. 
You're  not  a  girl  to  loye  a  sack  of  gold. 
Say  what  you  may,  I  don't  believe  you  care 
For  Bro^yn,  were  he  ten  times  a  millionaire. 
You  can  not  like  him,  and,  to  tell  the  truth, 
10 


146  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

I  don't,  myself,  greatly  admire  the  youth. 
A  boy,  as  boys  go,  good  enough,  agreed — 
But  not  the  one  to  marry  you. 

Kate. 

Indeed ! 

The  Professok. 
A  shallow  dandy — a  mere  mutton-head, 
Who  puts  on  mighty  airs  ;  snobbish,  half-bred  ; 
Ignorant,  careless,  loose,  unscientific ; 
Of  good  works  barren  and  of  debts  prolific. 
Laziest  of  men,  unwilling  or  unable 
To  read  a  book.     At  home  in  club  or  stable. 
But  nowhere  else — a  man  who  will,  of  course. 
Divide  his  love  between  you  and — his  horse. 

Kate,  aside. 
I  thought  so. 

The  Professor. 
He's  im worthy  such  a  treasure. 
Look  elsewhere  for  a  husband. 

Kate. 

At  your  pleasure. 
Just  as  you  say.     But  I  supposed  you  knew 
I  was  but  doing  as  you  told  me  to. 

The  Professor, 
Well— but— I  thought— 


A  TEACHER  TAUGHT.  147 

Kate. 
You  see,  one  may  mistake 
At  any  age.     But  wliat  choice  shall  I  make  ? 
Young  Buckingham  de  Brown  is,  we  will  say, 
A  type  of  all  the  young  men  of  the  day. 
If  this  be  so,  and  if  we  won't  have  him. 
The  chances  of  the  rest  grow  rather  slim . 
In  very  truth,  as  far  as  I  can  see, 
I'll  never  get  a  husband — 

The  Pkofessok. 

Kate,  take  me  ! 

Kate. 
You? 

The  Pkoeessok. 
Yes,  my  love,  you  wanted  to,  just  now. 

Kate. 
Oh,  but,  since  then,  you  know,  you've  shown  me 

how 
I  erred  in  such  a  choice .     And  to  the  letter 
I'll  follow  your  advice. 

The  Peofessoe. 

For  want  of  better  ! 

Kate. 
Well,  it  might  do,  if  you  were  not  so  old . 


148  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR   ACTING. 

The  Professor. 
So  old? 

Kate. 

Yes,  thirty-five. 

The  Professor. 

I  never  told 
Any  one  that !  My  birthday  is  next  week. 
I'm  thirty-four  at  present. 

Kate. 

So  to  speak, 
That's  middle-aged. 

The  Professor. 

I  haven't  one  gray  hair — 
In  my  whole  head. 

Kate. 
"Well,  they'll  soon  be  there. 

The  Professor. 
No,  I'll  be  bald  first. 

Kate. 

But  you  never  go 
Into  society. 

The  Professor. 
But  I  will,  you  know. 

Kate. 
Your  dress  adds  to  your  years  full  eight  or  nine. 


A  TEACHER  TAUGHT.  149 

The  Professor. 
Buckingham  de  Brown's  own  tailor  shall  be  mine. 

Kate. 
Algebra  '11  be  my  rival,  I  foresee. 

The  Professor. 
Only  to  prove  my  love  by  A  plus  B. 

Kate. 
You'll  not  be  ready  when  the  lunch-bell  rings. 

The  Professor. 
'Twill  be  your  task  to  teach  me  all  those  things. 

Kate. 
But  then,  my  guardian,  is  it  your  advice 
That  I  should  make  this  awful  sacrifice  ? 

The  Professor. 
You  saucy  jade ! 

Kate. 
And  only  as  a  daughter 
Can  a  girl  love  the  patriarch  who's  taught  her 
To  say  '^papa !" 

The  Professor. 

No — that  I  did  not — never  ! 
0  Kate  !  you're  laughing.     Oh,  you  saucy,  clever, 


150  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Malicious— angel !    Jove  enthroned  above  ! 
Mars  !     Gods  eleven,  I  have  won  her  love  ! 
Her  love  !    Yes,  I  was  idiotic,  blind. 
Not  to  have  guessed  it.     Kitty,  never  mind  ! 
We'll  make  up  for  lost   time  now  —  wait  and 

see — 
I  love  you,  dear,  more  even  than  you  love  me. 

Curtain. 


HEREDITY 


A  PHYSIOLOGICAL  AND  PSYCHOLOGICAL 
ABSURDITY  IN  ONE  ACT. 

By  ARTHUR  PENN. 


CHARACTERS. 


Mr.  Smith,  a  burgomaster. 

Me.  Smith,  a  drum  major. 

Me.  Smith,  a  swell. 

Me.   Smith,  a  sporting  gentleman. 

Me.  von  Beuckekceuckenthal,  a  gentle- 
man suffering  from  compatiUUty  of  temper. 

Mes.  von  Beuckenceuckenthal,  a  lady  suf- 
fering from  the  same  cause. 

Miss  Bella  Smith,  a  young  lady  of  great 
personal  attractions,  lulio  falls  heir  finally — hut 
perhaps  it  is  as  well  not  to  anticipate. 


[The  French  original  of  this  play  is  "  Za  Posterite  dhcn 
Bourgmestre^^'  written  by  M.  Mario  Uchard.J 


HEEEDITT.* 


ScEi;rE  :  A  public  square  in  Hackendrackenstack- 
enfelstein,  a  small  German  village  near  the 
Rhine.  Burgomaster's  house  L.,  with  practi- 
cable window  oyer  the  door.  Chair  before  the 
door.  The  Dew  Drop  Inn  R.,  with  a  swing- 
ing sign.     Chair  and  table  before  its  door. 

Burgomaster  discovered  C.  letween  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  von  Bruckencruckentlidl.  Other  villa- 
gers R.  and  L. 

OPENING   CHORUS. 

Air :  "  XJpidee  "  or  *'  The  Cork  Leg." 
They  say  it  is  the  proper  thing 
That  we  an  opening  chorus  sing ; 
And  so  we  stand  here  in  a  ring 
To  raise  our  voice  from  wing  to  wing. 

Although  we  do  not  think  it  nice, 
A  single  verse  will  not  suffice ; 
More  are  included  in  the  price, 
And  BO  we  have  to  bore  you  twice. 

\Exeunt  mllagers  R.  and  L. 

*  See  Prefatory  Note,  p.  13,  for  remarks  about  the  perform- 
ance of  this  play. 


154  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

BUKGOMASTER. 

Now,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  von  Bruckcruckenthal,  I 
give  you  five  minutes,  not  a  second  more.  Be- 
fore being  Burgomaster,  I  was  Colonel  in  the  First 
Hackendrackenstackenfelstein  Mounted  Fire  Ex- 
tinguishers. To-day  is  the  anniversary  of  the 
capture  of  Holzenstolzenburg.  As  an  old  soldier, 
I  take  part  in  the  ceremony.  I  had  already  donned 
my  Colonel's  costume  when  you  knocked,  and  con- 
cealed the  warrior  under  the  robe  of  the  magis- 
trate. The  sun  will  shortly  appear.  I  give  you 
five  minutes.     Speak  ! 

VoK   B. 

Well— you  see — your  honor. 

Burgomaster,  interrupting. 

Tell  me  quickly,  what  do  you  desire,  Mr.  von 

Truck  ? 

Von  B.,  correcting. 

Von  Bruckencruckenthal,  your  honor.  I  want 
to  be  divorced. 

Burgomaster. 

And  you,  Mrs.  von  Truck  ? 

VoN"  B.,  correcting. 
Von  Bruckencruckenthal. 

Mrs.  von  B. 
So  do  I,  your  honor.     I  could  not  think  of 
opposing  my  husband. 


HEREDITY.  155 

Burgomaster. 
What  are  your  reasons  ?    Is  your  wife  disa- 
greeable ? 

Von  B. 

On  the  contrary. 

Burgomaster. 
Extravagant  ? 

Mrs.  yojt  B. 
He  carries  the  purse,  your  honor. 

Burgomaster. 

Does  she  flirt  ? 

Voi^  B. 

Never,  your  honor. 

Burgomaster. 

Does  she  beat  you  ? 

Mrs.  vok  B. 

Oh,  no  !    I  loye  him  too  much  for  that. 

Burgomaster. 
Well,  then,  if  it  is  not  impertinent,  I  should 
like  to  know  why  you  want  a  divorce. 

Vo]s:  B. 
For  compatibility  of  temper. 

Burgomaster. 
Very  well,  for  incompatibility  of  temper. 


156  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Von  B. 

No,  your  honor,  I  said  compatibility  of  tem- 
per. 

BUKGOMASTEE. 

I  would  comprehend.     I  do  not  comprehend. 

VoK  B. 

I  will  explain,  your  honor.  When  I  want  a 
thing,  my  wife  desires  exactly  the  same  thing. 
When  I  want  to  go  to  the  right,  she  says  go  to  the 
right.  The  dishes  I  like  she  adores.  I  say  scis- 
sors, she  says  scissors.  The  infernal  similarity  in 
our  tastes,  our  ideas,  in  fact,  in  everything,  makes 
my  life  wretchedly  one-sided.  Existence  is  in- 
supportable. I  need  variety,  excitement,  and  not 
this  disgusting  monotony.  That's  why  I  want  a 
divorce. 

Burgomaster. 

What  say  you,  Mrs.  von  Truck  ? 

Von  B.,  correcting. 
Von  Bruckencruckenthal. 

Mrs.  von  B. 
Nothing,  your  honor.     My  husband  must  be 
right,  since  he  is  my  husband. 

Von  B. 

Just  hear  that,  your  honor. 


HEREDITY.  157 

BUKGOMASTER. 

Enough  !  tlie  five  minutes  have  elapsed.  Mrs. 
von  Brokencrockery,  come  here.  [Whiskers  to 
Mrs.  van  B.] 

VoN"  B.,  aside. 
What  is  he  saying  to  her  ?    Oh  !  if  I  don't  get 
a  divorce,  this  devastating  monotony  will  kill  me. 

BURGOMASTEE,  tO  MrS.  VOTl  B. 

To  be  taken  every  morning  and  evening,  be- 
fore meals.  \To  von  BJ\  Mr.  von  Brokencrock- 
ery, come  and  see  me  in  a  week.  Good  day.  The 
Burgomaster  vanishes.  {Exit  L, 

VoK  B. 

What  did  he  whisper  you  ? 

Mrs.  voir  B. 
He  told  me  of  a  remedy  to  correct  myself. 

VoK  B. 

You  don't  say  so  !    Wliat  remedy  ? 

Mrs.  YON"  B .,  hoxing  Ms  ears. 

That! 

Voir  B. 
What  ? 

Mrs.  YOi^  B. 
^  Every  morning  and  evening,  before  meals. 


158  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTIXG. 

VON^   B. 

We'll  see  about  that. 

Mrs.  vojt  B. 

Forward — marcli — look  sharp  ! 

Voi^  B. 
Here  is  a  remedy  of  the  patent-medicine  kind. 

Mes.  voir  B. 
But  it  will  succeed.  [Exeunt  R. 

Burgomaster  enters  L.  from  house  in  fantastic 
costume  of  Mounted  Fire  Extinguishers,  ivithout 
his  hoots.  He  strikes  a  solemn  attitude  lefore  his 
door,  and  then  sneezes. 

Burgomaster. 
Atchi  !  The  dream  was  strange.  All  night 
I  saw  my  son,  my  long-lost  son.  If  I  could  only 
recover  him  !  Perhaps  the  dream  was  a  heavenly 
warning.  I  have  long  hoped  that  some  lucky  ac- 
cident would  bring  us  face  to  face,  and  that  a  fa- 
ther's heart —  [Comes  down  (7.]  It  was  in  1832. 
He  was  six  years  old.  We  bivouacked  on  the 
banks  of  the  Kalbsbratenthaler.  Suddenly  we 
were  attacked  by  guerrillas — no,  gorillas — no, 
guerrillas.  We  seize  our  arms — I  tell  my  son  to 
await  my  return  near  a  tree — I  mount  my  steed — 
we  fly  to  victory— the  enemy  fly  from  us — and  I 
fly  to  the  arms  of  Murphy — no,  Morphy — I  mean 


HEREDITY.  159 

Morpheus.  The  next  day  I  return  for  my  son. 
I  found  the  tree.  I  had  blazed  it  with  my  sabre  ; 
but  my  son  was — ^gone.  [Chord.']  I  interrogate 
the  police — the  detectives — but,  of  course,  they 
knew  nothing.  Since  then,  no  news.  I  have  be- 
come Burgomaster.  Once  a  year  I  rebecome 
Colonel.  [Foetically]  Here  comes  the  dawn.  Au- 
rora, smiling  child  of  Phoebus.  Atchi !  [Sneezes 
— then  goes  up  and  sits  before  door,  taking  out 
paper  from  pochet.]  Let's  see  the  news.  ^^The 
Daily  Comet."  I  like  ^^Tlie  Daily  Comet"— it 
always  has  such  good  tales.  "  Telegraphic  News. 
By  Cable .  Associated  Press  Dispatches.  Holzen- 
stolzenfels  :  The  event  of  the  day  is  the  dehut  at 
the  Eoyal  Senegambian  Circus  of  the  riding  man- 
monkey,  the  Cynocephalus."  [Spohen']  Cyno- 
cephalus — pretty  name — 'tis  a  German  name. 
[Reads \  ''This  prodigy  of  strength — this  hairy 
artiste — "  [Spohen]  Artiste.  Ah  !  he's  an  Ital- 
ian. [Reads']  ''This  hairy  artiste  performs  the 
most  difficult  feats  with  a  facility  extremely  sur- 
prising. His  best  act  is  the  Flying  Leap  of  the 
Bounding  Antelope  of  the  Choctaw  Desert." 
[Rises]  Ah  !  the  father  of  such  a  son  may  well 
be  proud.  My  Edward  would  perhaps  have  re- 
sembled him.  My  Edward  !  Oh,  that  dream  ! 
If  I  should  only  recover  him,  I  would  make  him 
my  friend,  my  companion,  my  boot-black.  Ah  ! 
away  with  weakness.  I  am  a  burgomaster — that 
is  some  consolation.     Atchi !     [Sneezes.] 


160  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Smith,  a  swell,  enters  L.,  luith  sack  on  hack, 
cane,  eyeglass,  etc.  Very  strong  lisp  throughout. 
Reads  sign  of  in7i. 

Swell. 
By  Jove  !  this  is  it.      The   Dew  Drop  Inn. 
[  To  Burgomaster']  I  say,  my  friend,  does  the  Fly- 
ing Velocipede  pass  here  for  Holzenstolzenfels  ? 

BuKGOMASTER,  majestically. 
In  the  first  place,  I  am  not  your  friend.     In 
the  second  place,  you  will  immediately  show  me 
your  passport. 

Swell,  taking  off  sack. 
By  Jove  !  ye  know,  my  passport  is  in  my  sack, 
my  good  man. 

Burgomaster,  indignantly. 
I  am  not  your  good  man.     Your  passport  ! 

Swell. 
Give  a  fellow  time,  you  know.    You'll  see,  my 
name  is  Smith. 

Burgomaster,  aside,  excitedly. 
Heavens  !     That   eye !    that   mouth !    those 
nose  !     If  it  were  he  !     [Aloud]  Your  name  is 
Smith  ? 

Swell. 
Yes,  Colonel. 


HEREDITY.  161 

BUEGOMASTER. 

Call  me  Burgomaster. 

Swell,  giving  passport. 
There,  enraged  wretch  ! 

BuKGOMASTER,  taking  it  tenderly. 
Call  me  friend.     {Reads,  aside.]     Heavens  ! 
he  told  the  truth.     [Aloud]  Young  man,  your 
hand.     I  am  also  a  Smith. 

Swell. 
You   are  no  phenomenon,  dilapidated  indi- 
vidual.     I   know   many  more    Smiths,  without 
counting  my  father. 

Burgomaster,  wildly. 
You  have  a  father  ? 

Swell. 
By  Jove  !  ye  know.    Do  I  look  as  if  I  grew  on 
a  rose-tree,  aged  innocent  ?     [Sneezes.]     Atchi  ! 
There,  I  am  catching  cold. 

Burgomaster,  with  joy,  struck  dy  aii  idea,  aside. 
He  has  a  cold.     I  have  a  cold.     Perhaps  it  is 
hereditary.     [Aloud]  Young  man,  ydu  resemble 
a  son  I  lost.     [Emhraces  Mm.] 

Swell,  struggling. 
By  Jove  !  ye  know  ;  he  is  mad.    Wrathy  curi- 
osity, restrain  your  emotion. 
11 


162         COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

BuKGOMASTER,  putting  hand  to  SiuelVs  heart. 
You  feel  nothing  there  ? 

Swell,  roughly. 
I  feel  a  No.  11  hand.    [Repulses  Burgomaster, 
and  sits  at  table  R.,  eating  Iread  and  cherries  from 
sack.  ] 

BUEGOMASTER,  L. 

How  he  resembles  me  !  This  is  mysterious 
— ^very  mysterious  !  I  must  dissemble.  [Retires 
up  L.l 

Bella  entei^s  R.  with  a  small  package  in  her  hand. 

Ah  !  Oh,  dear  !  Isn't  it  hot !  [Puts  package 
on  table ;  sees  Swell ^  Ah  !  a  young  man.  Good 
day,  sir.     [Courtesies.] 

Swell,  at  table  R. 
By  Jove  !  ye  know.     What  a  pretty  girl  ! 

BuiiGOMASTEK,  coming  doion  R. 
Female  peasantess,  your  passport ! 

Bella. 
Oh,  dear  !  a  soldier.     Good  day,  sir.     [Cour- 
tesies. ] 

Burgomaster,  severely. 

Your  passport  ! 

Bella,  giving  it. 
There,  sir. 


HEREDITY.  163 

Burgomaster,  taking  it 

Your  name  ! 

Bella. 

Bella  Smith,  sir. 

Burgomaster,  aside,  excitedly. 
Smith  !    {^Reads.']    Heavens  !  'tis  true.    That 
eye  !   that  month  !  those  nose  !    If  it  were  he  ! 
[To  Bella']  Yon  are  a  girl  ? 

Bella,  lauglmig. 
If  you  please,  your  honor,  don't  be  stupid  ! 

Burgomaster,  dignified. 
Female  peasantess,  your  language  is    incen- 
diary !    Eemember  that  I  represent  the  law,  and 
to  say  I  am  stupid — 

Bella. 
Oh,  dear  !    I  beg  your  pardon,  sir ;  it  was  a 
slip  of  the  tongue.     [Innocently]  I  know  I  should 
not  always  say  what  I  think. 

Burgomaster,  majestically. 
'Tis  well !  [Slowly  exit  L. 

Bella,  looMng  at  Mm,  laughs. 

Oh,  dear  !  ins't  he  funny  ?    Some  men  are  so 

ugly- 

Swell. 

Thank  you  for  them. 


164  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Bella,  quickly. 
Oil !  I  don't  say  that  for  you ;  you  are  quite 
good-looking. 

Swell. 

Thank  you  for  myself. 

Bella,  confused. 
Oh,  dear  !  that  was  another  slip. 

Swell. 
By  Jove  !  ye  know,  I  don't  complain.    I  would 
say  as  much  to  you. 

Bella,  sitting  at  taUe  R. 
Oh,  bah  !     We  don't  know  each  other. 

Swell. 
By  Jove  !  ye  know,  we  must.     Which  way  do 
you  go  ? 

Bella. 

That  doesn't  interest  you  ;  you  won't  come. 

Swell. 
By  Jove  !  ye  know,  you  don't  know  me.     I've 
followed  girls  far  plainer  tlian  you. 

Bella,  conceitedly. 
I  should  say  so. 

Swell. 
Coquette  ! 


HEREDITY.  165 

Bella,  confusedly. 
Oh,  dear  !  that  Avas  a  slip. 

Swell,  offering  fruit. 
Have  some  cherries  ? 

Bella,  talcing  fruit. 
Yes,  a  few — a  very  few.     Oh,  ain't  they  awful 

nice ! 

Swell. 

You  love  fruit,  like  all  Eve's  daughters. 

Bella,  eating. 
Eve's  daughters  ?    Don't  know  them.     They 
don't  live  in  this  part  of  the  country. 

Swell. 
So  you  vfon't  tell  me  which  way  you  go  ? 

Bella,  rising. 
Oh,  dear  !  You  are  too  inquisitive.  I  don't 
answer  such  questions  [very  fasf],  although 
Mrs.  Jackman  does  say  I'm  a  chatterbox.  It  is 
not  that  Mrs.  Jackman  is  a  bad  sort  of  woman. 
Oh,  dear,  no  !  but  you  see  she  is  selling  her  house. 

Swell. 
Ah  !  she  is  selling  her  house,  is  she  ? 

Bella,  chattering. 
Yes,  and  so   I  should  have  to  work  in  the 


166  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

country,  if  I  staid  with  her,  and  that  would 
spoil  my  hands.  It  would  be  a  pity  to  spoil  my 
hands,  wouldn't  it  ? 

Swell,  tahmg  her  hand. 
By  Jove  !  I  should  think  so. 

Bella,  chattering  on. 
So,  you  see,  Mrs.  Jackman  said  she  should  send 
me  to  her  sister  in  town. 

Swell,  quichly. 
Ah  !  you  go  to  to'vvn. 

Bella. 
Oh,  dear !  that  was  a  slip,  too.     [Anxiously^ 
Are  you  not  going  that  way  ? 

Swell. 

Yes. 

Bella. 

Oh,  dear !  what  luck  ?  We  can  go  together, 
because,  you  know,  I'm  afraid  of  people  I  don't 
know.  I  don't  associate  with  everybody.  You 
see,  when  one  is  pretty — 

Swell. 
And  when  one  knows  it. 

Bella,  innocently. 
Yes— I  mean,  no.     Oh,  dear !   you  make  me 
talk  such  nonsense. 


HEREDITY.  167 

[Duet  may  he  introduced  here  for  Bella  and 

Swell.] 

Swell. 

Have  you  a  sweetheart  ? 

Bella. 
None  of  your  business. 

Swell. 
By  Joye  !  ye  know,  with  those  eyes,  ye  ought 
to  have  many. 

Bella. 
I  have  none. 

Swell,  gallantly. 
By  Jove  !  ye  know,  I  know  one. 

.  Bella,  innoce7itly. 
Oh,  dear  !  do  you  ? 

Swell. 

Yes,  by  Jove  !    Won't  you  give  me  a  lock  of 

your  hair  ? 

Bella. 

What  for  ? 

Swell. 
Why,  isn't  a  lock  of  your  hair  a  key  to  your 
feelings  ? 

Bella,  laughing. 

No,  unless  you  pull  it. 


168  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Swell. 
Then  let  me  pull  it  at  once.     [Tries  to  kiss 
her,  she  escapes  off  E.    He  comes  down  front  and 
sings : 

Air :  "  Up  in  a  Balloon." 
Dearest  Arabella, 

Meet  me  at  the  gate ; 
Come  prepared  to  stay  out 

Kinder  sorter  late. 
"Wrap  yourself  in  cotton, 

Like  a  tooth  that  aches; 
Drink  up  the  molasses 

For  to-morrow's  cakes. 
Eat  about  a  hundred 

Pounds  of  honeycomb. 
With  a  pint  of  syrup, 

Just  to  send  it  home. 
Send  to  meet  the  other  things 

Sixteen  sugar-loaves. 
And,  by  way  of  spicing, 

Take  two  little  cloves. 
Cover  with  a  pound  of 

Maple-sugar  chips; 
Put  a  stick  of  candy 

'Twixt  your  dainty  lips  ; 
Then  teU  Mr.  Edison 

To  send  the  bill  to  me, 
And  charge  you  to  the  nozzle 
•    With  electricitee. 
Then  if  you  will  pocket 

That  piece  of  chewing-gum. 
Warble  like  a  little  bird. 

And  I  will  come !  [Exit, 


HEREDITY.  160 

Drum  Major  and  Sportikg  GEiq'T  enter  L. 
Drum  Major  heavily  learded,  in  a  fantastic 
drum-major's  dress,  Sportiijtg  Gent  has  spurs, 
a  whip,  and  jockey  cap. 

Sporting  G-ent,  continuing  a  story. 
But  that  is  not  all,  yoimg  man.  The  most 
astonishing  was  the  last  Derby.  A  most  gorgeous 
start !  Flatman  got  the  lead  on  Freemason,  go- 
ing like  wildfire.  Pratt  followed  close  with  Pret- 
ty Polly ;  just  behind  was  Miss  Pocahontas,  then 
Tomahawk.  At  the  second  jump,  Miss  Pocahon- 
tas got  ahead — you  understand. 

Drum  Major,  heroically  endeavoring  to  under- 
stand. 
Yes,  that  young  lady  got  a  head — well  ? 

Sporting  Gent. 
Flatman  let  her  pass.    He  knew  he  could  beat 
her  with  Freemason  at  the  last   ditch.     At  the 
third  fence,   Tomahawk   struck  forward.      But 
Pratt  took  a  fence  splendidly. 

Drum  Major. 

Ah  !  if  he  took  offense,  they  had  a  fight. 
Who  got  the  tomahawk  ? 

Sporting  Gent. 
Oh,  no  !    I  mean  he  got  over  the  fence. 


170  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Drum  Major. 
Ah  !  he  was  the  man  on  the  fence. 

Sportin'g  Gent. 
The  ditch  once  over,  Miss  Pocahontas  was 
coming  in  first,  when  Flatman  jammed  the  spurs 
into  Freemason's  ribs.  Chipney  understood  the 
danger,  and  brought  up  Tomahawk,  and  then 
Pratt  began  to  saw  at  Miss  Pocahontas's  mouth, 
and  on  they  went  in  fine  style.  Houp  !  g'lang  ! 
[Mahes  gestures  of  riding  race.] 

Drum  Major. 
I  say,  look  here  !  Is  it  to  aggravate  me  that 
you  get  off  these  bloodthirsty  stories — though  it 
makes  one's  blood  run  cold — about  your  friend 
who  saws  at  the  young  lady's  mouth  ?  It's  all 
wrong.    You  hear  !    Ah,  if  I  had  only  been  there  ! 

Sportikg  Gen^t. 
But,  my  friend,  Miss  Pocahontas  and  Free- 
mason are — 

Drum  Major,  forcibly. 
I  am  one — a  freemason — and  if  any  one  struck 
me  with  a  tomahawk,  or  forced  spurs  into  my 
ribs — I — I —    [  Calmly]  I  would  complain  at  head- 
quarters. 

Sportin^g  Gekt,  half  angry. 
Thick-headed  soldier,  don't  you  understand  ? 


HEREDITY.  I7I 

Drum  Major,  forcibly. 
I  grant  you  must  amuse  yourself,  flirt  with 
ladies,  but  cut  off  their  heads  with  a  saw — oh,  it 
is  atrocious  !  degrading  !    That's  my  opinion. 

Sporting  Ge]S"t,  tlioroitglily  angry. 
But,  unfortunate  wretch,  did  you  never  before 
hear  the  noble  language  of  the  turf  ? 

Drum  Major. 
The  turf  ?    Stuff  !    I  never  ate  any  !     But, 
if  it  cause  you  to  act  brutally  to  ladies,  I  don't 
want  to  eat  any. 

Sporting  Gej^t,  laughing  aside. 
Oh,  dear  !  isn't  he  green — verdant — refreshing! 
[Aloud]  Warrior,  you  are  a  bore  !  What  do  you 
take  me  for  ?  A  sanguinary  savage,  with  canni- 
balistic proclivities  ?  No  !  I  am  a  member  of 
the  Jockey  Club,  come  here  for  the  races.  Have 
you  never  heai^  of  sport  ? 

Drum  Major,  stupidly. 
Support !     Supporting  whom  ? 

Sportii^g  Gent,  angrily. 
I  say  sport  !     Sport. 

Drum  Major,  calmly. 
No,  I  never  supported  anybody. 


172  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Sporti]S"G  Gen"t,  angrily. 
Go  to  the  deyil,  if  you  can't  nnderstand  ! 

Drum  Major. 
I  understand  now.     You  wished  to  aggravate 
me.     I  shall  complain  to  the  Colonel.    [Pointing 
to  Burgomaster,  who  enters  L,'\ 

Burgomaster,  coming  clotvn  C. 
A  row  here  in  my  diggins  !     AVhat  the  diggins 
does  it  mean  ? 

Drum  Major. 

Colonel,  this  individual — 

Burgomaster. 
Call  me  Burgomaster. 

Drum  Major. 
Yes,  Colonel.     You  see,  this  individual — 

Burgomaster. 

Your  passports  ! 

Drum  Major. 
Here,  Colonel.     [They  show  them.']     This  in- 
dividual— 

Burgomaster. 
Your  name  ! 

Drum  Major. 
Smith,   Drum    Major   of    the   Ninety-Ninth 
Scandinavian  Horse  Marines. 


HEREDITY.  173 

Burgomaster,  excitedly. 

Smith  !    Heayens  !    That  eye  !  that  mouth  ! 

those  nose  !     If  it  were  iie  !    [To  Drum  Majof\ 

To  my  arms  ! 

Drum  Major. 

Yes,  Colonel.     [Passively  falls  in  Burgomas- 

tefs  arms.'] 

Burgomaster. 

Dear  child  !     It  was  you,  was  it  not,  I  left  on 

the  banks  of  the  Kalbsbratenthaler  ? 

Drum  Major,  puzzled. 
On  the  banks  of  the  Kalbsbratenthaler,  Colonel. 

Burgomaster. 
Yes ;  collect  your  reminiscences.     Do  you  re- 
member Charley,  to  whom  I  lent  the  money  the 
General  gave  me  ? 

Drum  Major. 
Oh,  the  General !     [Mahes  military  salute.] 

Burgomaster. 

Charley,  the  apple-pie  man,  who  used  to  make 
you  apple  pies  and  tarts. 

Drum  Major,  utterly  bewildered. 
Pison  tarts  ? 

Burgomaster,  excitedly. 
Yes.      Remember !     Remember  !    Ah,  thou- 
sand thunders  !  he  forgets. 


174       comedies  for  amateur  acting. 

Sportii^g  Gent. 
I  say,  Colonel,  you  crush  my  passport  in  your 
affectionate  anguish.     Return  it. 

BURGOMASTEE. 

One  moment.     [To  Drum  Major']   Stay  here. 
[To  Sporting  Gent]  Your  name  ? 


Sporting  Gent. 

Burgomaster. 

Drum  Major. 


Smith ! 

Smith  ! ! 

Smith  ! ! ! 

Burgomaster,  reading. 


Heavens  !  'tis  true.  That  eye  !  that  mouth  ! 
those  nose  !  If  it  were  he  !  AVhat  shall  I  do  ? 
Only  wanted  one  son.  I  find  three.  I  faint. 
[Faints — Drum  Major  catches  Mm.  Bella  and 
Swell  enter  R.  U.  K] 

Tableau. 

Bella,  to  Burgomaster  C. 
Do  you  feel  better  ? 

Burgomaster,  ivahing  up. 
Where   am   I?     [LooTcs  around.]     Ah,  yes ! 
[Suddenly  tahes  to  striding  up  and  down  stage.] 
How  embarrassing^ !    Three  sons— which  to  recog- 


HEREDITY.  175 

nize — which  to  press  to  my  paternal  bosom.  One 
thousand  conflicting  emotions  rend  my  tortured 
breast,  and  I  have  not  my  boots. 

Von  B.,  entering  R. 
Your  honor,  here  is  an  official  telegram. 

BuEGOMASTER,  bewildered. 
A  telegram  !  my  son — oh,  dear  ! 

VoK  B. 

They  said  it  was  important.  [Exit  R. 

Burgomaster,  C. 
Important !  Well,  duty  after  all  else.  [Reads] 
"  Burgomaster  Smith,  on  receipt  of  this,  will  scour 
the  country  with  all  available  forces,  and  recap- 
ture the  riding  man-monkey,  the  Cynocephalus. " 
[Spohen']  What !  the  Cynocephalus  has  escaped  ! 
How  lucky  if  I  recaptured  it !  Ah  !  there  is  a  P. 
S.  [Reads]  "  He  answers  to  the  name  of  Smith." 
Thousand  thunders  !  if  he  were  my  son.  How 
embarrassing  !     My  duty.     [Takes  stage  R.] 

Sporting  Gekt,  follows  R.  and  stands  R. 
My  passport. 

Burgomaster. 
My  affection.     [Takes  stage  L.] 

Swell,  follows  and  stands  L. 
My  passport. 


176  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Burgomaster. 
My  head  whirls.     [Takes  stage  up  i?.] 

Bella,  follows  and  stands  up  R. 
My  passport. 

Burgomaster. 
The  Oynocephalus  my  son.    [  Takes  stage  up  L.  ] 

Drum  Major,  follows  and  stands  up  L. 
My  passport. 

Burgomaster,  C. 
Leave  me  alone.      I  can't  think  without  my 

boots. 

All,  coming  C. 

But,  Colonel. 

Burgomaster,  heroically. 
I  go  to  put  them  on.  [Exit  into  house. 

Bella,  R.  C. 
He  looks  irritated. 

Sporting  G-ent,  L.  C,  to  her. 
Charming  creature  ! 

Swell  comes  C.  between  them. 

Bella,  courtesying. 
You  are  polite,  sir.      [To  Drum  Major  R.'\ 
What  could  have  caused  his  emotion  ? 


HEREDITY.  177 

Deum  Majoe,  R. 
Beauteous  being,  I  know  not. 

Sporting  GEiq-T,  less  gallantly. 
One  can  easily  understand  that  on  seeing  you 
he  lost  his  head. 

Swell,  coming  again  between  them. 
By  Jove  !   ye  know.     Just  approach  a  little 
farther  off. 

Bella,  to  Drum  Major. 
Perhaps  he  was  ill.     Do  you  know  him,  sir  ? 

Deum  Major. 
Siren,  I  do  not. 

Bella. 

But  you  embraced  him. 

Drum  Major. 
I  received    the  order — I  obeyed  it.     But  I 
should  rather  have  it  come  from  you. 

Bella. 

All  three  of  these  men  seem  taken  with  me. 
It  is  a  most  embarrassing  position  for  a  poor 
maiden. 

12 


178  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

SONG. 

Air :  Any  Waltz. 

What  can  a  poor  maiden  do, 
Who  is  sought  by  suitors  two? 

Or,  perhaps,  as  you  see, 

By  suitors  three. 
Who  profess,  and  propose,  and  pursue. 

Swell. 
What  can  a  poor  maiden  do, 
Who  is  sought  by  suitors  two  ? 

She  had  best  married  be ; 

So  she  should  marry  me. 
To  her  I  will  ever  be  true. 

Bella. 
What  can  a  poor  maiden  do  ? 
She  can  not  cut  her  heart  in  two  I 

Or  love  all  the  three. 

Most  afifectionatelee  I 
She  can  love  only  one  of  you. 

Sporting  Gent,  rex>eats  stanza  sung  ly  Swell. 
Bella. 
What  can  a  poor  maiden  do? 
The  prospect  is  certainly  blue. 
So  she  had  better  flee 
To  some  far  countree, 
Patagonia,  Pekin,  or  Peru. 

Drum  Major  sings  stanza  sung  ly  Swbll.     Then  all 
four  repeat. 


HEREDITY.  179 

Bella,  R, 

Dear  me  !  it's  really  very  embarrassing. 

Swell. 
She  sings  like  an  angel. 

SpoETii;rG  GEi^'T. 
She  has  a  pace  like  a  thoroughbred. 

Drum  Major. 
Your  song  enchants  me,  oh,  sweetest  siren  I 

Bella. 
Bella  is  my  name,  sir — not  siren. 

Drum  Major. 

Yes,  my  siren. 

Bella. 
I  say,  what  is  a  siren  ? 

Drum  'M.ksots,,  puzzled. 
A  siren,  fair  creature — a  siren  is — 

Swell,  interrupting, 
A  woman  with  a  fish's  tail. 

Bella. 

Oh,  dear,  how  horrid  ! 

Drum  Major. 
But,  fairest,  I  assure  you. 


180  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Sporthstg  Gext. 
You're  a  bore,  if  that  is  your  method  of  malt- 
ing love. 

Drum  Major,  angrily. 
You  are  a  nice  one,  you  are,  after  aggravating 
me  by  sawing  off  a  young  lady's  head,  you  infuri- 
ated vagabond. 

Sportikg  Gent. 
Ruthless  wretch  ! 

Drum  Major. 
Thousand  thunders !     A  citizen  insults  the 
army.      [Draws   sabre.}     Dr-r-r-aw  and  defend 
yourself,  vile  caitiff ! 

Bella. 
Dear  me  !  they  will  kill  each  other.     Help  ! 
murder  !  fire  ! 

Swell. 

Ah,  here  is  the  Colonel  ! 

Burgomaster,  in  door  of  lionise. 
Wherefore  this  noise  ? 

Bella,  R.  to  Swell. 
He  has  his  boots. 

Swell,  R.  C.  to  Drum  Major. 
He  has  his  boots. 


HEREDITY.  181 

Drum  Major,  L.  G.  to  Sporting  Gent, 
He  lias  his  boots. 

SpoRTii^G  Gekt,  L.  to  audience. 
He  has  his  boots. 

CHORUS,  all  except  Burgomaster. 

Air :  "  II  grandira,"  from  "  La  Perichole,"  Offenbach. 

He  has  his  boots ! 
He  has  his  boots ! 
He  has  his  boots,  and  he's  a  man  of  gore! 

Burgomaster. 
In  private  Ufe  I  am  a  right  good  fellow — 

At  most  a  very  ordinary  man. 
I  play  the  flute,  I  play  the  violoncello, 

And  on  the  drum  I  do  the  best  I  can. 
These  tastes  may  cause  my  fellow  men  to  shun  me ; 

But  still  they  show  a  breast  unused  to  war. 
Yet  now,  behold  [repeat],  a  change  has  come  upon  me; 

I  have  my  hoots  [three  times],  and  I'm  a  man  of  gore. 

[Chorus  as  he/ore. 

My  brain  is  clear ;  my  cra-ni-um  is  level ; 

I  substitute  the  lion  for  the  lamb. 
In  blood  I  bask ;  in  devastation  revel ; 

And  that's  the  sort  of  hurricane  I  am. 
No  more  will  I  my  spirit  high  dissemble, 

And  imitate  the  clam  on  ocean's  shore. 
The  world  shall  shake  [repeat],  the  solar  system  trem- 
ble— 

I  have  my  boots  [three  times],  and  I'm  a  man  of  gore. 

[Chorus  as  before. 


182  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Bella. 
I  should  not  like  to  stand  in  liis  shoes  when 
he  has  those  boots  on. 

BUEGOHASTER. 

Wherefore  this  disturbance  ? 

Drum  Major. 
He  insulted  the  army. 

Sporting  Gekt. 
Not  at  all.     He  insulted  this  lady. 

Drum  Major. 
I  want  satisfaction.     Ber-r-r-lud  !     A  duel ! 

All. 
A  duel  ? 

Bella. 
Oh,  dear ! 

Burgomaster,  confused. 
A  duel.     The  Cynocephalus,  my  son. 

Drum  Major. 
I  am  an  officer. 

Sportikg  Gent. 
I  might  have  been  one.     I  will   prove  it. 
Colonel,  lend  me  thy  sword. 


HEREDITY.  183 

Burgomaster,  waking  up. 
My    sword.       [Looking   at   Sporting    Gent] 
Heavens  !   what  do  I  see  ?     That  whip  !  those 
spurs  !  'tis  he  !  'tis  he  ! 

Sportikg  Gent,  aside. 
What  does  he  say  ? 

Burgomaster,  to  Sporting  Gent. 
Your  name  is  Smith  ? 

Sporti]S"g  Gent. 
Yes. 

Burgomaster. 
I  arrest  you. 

Sporting  Gent. 
Arrest  me  !    What  for  ? 

Burgomaster,  peremptorily/. 
Your  real  name  is  Cynocephalus.     You  have 
escaped  from  the  Royal  Senegambian  Circus.    To 
prison  !     [Aside]   With  my  boots  on,  I  am  aston- 
ishingly clever. 

Sporting  Gent,  takes  R. 
This  is  an  outrage  ! 

Swell  [lisping]. 
By  Jove !  ye  know,  you  thee  what  it  is  to  be 
too  gallant. 


184  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Burgomaster,  hurriedly. 
What  do  I  hear  ?    That  foreign  accent.     ^Tis 
he  !     \_To  Swell]   Your  name  is  Smith. 

Swell. 

Yes. 

Burgomaster. 
I  arrest  you. 

Bella. 
Oh,  dear ! 

Swell,  angrily. 

Arrest  me  !    Why  ? 

Burgomaster. 
You  will  be  told  after. 

Swell. 
What  right  have  you  to —  ? 

Burgomaster,  grandly. 
By  my  authority  as  Burgomaster,  I  order  you 
to  prison,  which  you  will  leave  [excitedly']  only  to 
do  the  Flying  Leap  of  the  Bounding  Antelope  of 
the  Choctaw  Desert. 

Swell. 
The  flying  leap. 

Sporting  Gent. 
The  bounding  antelope. 

Bella. 
The  Choctaw  Desert. 


HEREDITY.  185 

Swell. 
Sanguinary  antiquity,  this  is  an  outrage  to — 

Burgomaster,  grandly. 
You  resist.     Ah,  ha  !  'tis  well.    Drum  Major, 
I  invoke  your  assistance.    Seize  that  bloodthirsty 
rufiBan.      \PoinU  to   Sporting    Gent  and    takes 
Swell  by  collar.'] 

Swell,  struggling  feeUy. 
Thith  ith  outrageouth.     By  Jove  !  ye  know, 
to  arrest  a  fellow  for  no  offenth. 

Burgomaster,  loith  lisp  and  SwelVs  accent. 
By  Jove  !  ye  know,  I  know  your  offenth. 

Swell,  struggling  feebly . 
Let  me  get  my  thack. 

Burgomaster. 
ril  keep  your  thack,  you  thee. 

Swell,  loildly. 
He  taketh  my  thack  ;  he  taketh  my  accent ; 
he  taketh  me  by  the  collar  ;  he  hath  a  very  taking 
way. 

Burgomaster. 

It  aggravates  him  to  be  taken  off,  poor  little 
fellow. 

Swell,  struggling. 

Don't  pull  my  collar. 


186  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

BUEGOMASTER. 

Don't  be  choleric.  [Pulls  him  into  house 
where  Drum  Major  has  put  Sport,  a7id  lochs  door.] 

Drum  Major. 
Ah,  Colonel !    I  think  I  was  of  great  assis- 
tance. 

Burgomaster,  calmly. 

Drum  Major,  I  am  satisfied  with  your  conduct 
on  this  memorable  and  glorious,  though  sangui- 
nary, occasion.  [Suddenly  regardi7ig  Drum  Ma- 
jor.] Ah  !  what  do  I  see  ?  Ah  !  [Jumps  wildly.] 
The  monkey-man  is  bearded.  This  hair.  [Point- 
ing to  Drum  Major.]  He  answers  to  the  name 
of  Smith.  [To  Drum  Major]  Cynocephalus,  I 
arrest  you. 

Drum  Major,  astonished. 
How,  Cynocephalus  !     I  do  not  know  that  in- 
dividual.    He  is  not  in  my  regiment. 

Burgomaster,  authoritatively, 
I  arrest  you — you  are  a  leapist. 

Drum  Major,  astonished. 
But,  Colonel. 

Burgomaster. 
You  resist  ?   Ah,  ha  !  to  prison.    [Crosses  L.] 


HEREDITY.  187 

Druji  Major. 
But  I  am  the  Drum  Major  of  the  Ninety-ninth 
Scandinavian  Horse  Marines. 

Burgomaster. 

No  observations  !      [Pushes  Mm  into  house, 
lochs  door,  and  comes  doiun  R.  ]    At  last. 

Bella. 
Oh,  dear  !    Poor  j^oung  man  ! 

Buego:master,  sagely. to  Bella. 
Female  peasantess,  your  name  is  Smith  ? 

Bella. 
Bella  Smith,  your  honor. 

Burgomaster,  aside. 
Ha,  ha  !     This  is  suspicious.     We  must  cross- 
question  her.     [Aloud']  So  you  pretend  to  be  a 
girl  ? 

Bella. 

Yes,  your  honor. 

Burgomaster. 
Call  me  Colonel. 

Bella. 

Yes,   your  honor.      What  have  these    poor 
young  men  done,  to  be  locked  up  ? 


188  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 


BuKGOMASTEE,  inquisitionally . 
the  rail 

Bella. 


You  are  going  to  the  railroad  ? 


Yes,  your  honor. 

Burgomaster,  roughly. 
Call  me  Colonel. 

Bella. 
Yes,  your  honor.     Why  did  you  arrest  them  ? 
It  is  perfectly  ridiculous. 

Burgomaster,  dignified. 
Female  peasantess ! 

Bella. 
Oh,  dear !  it  was  a  slip.     Is  it  because  they 
would  not  be  your  sons  ? 

Burgomaster,  grandly. 
They  are  my  sons  no  longer. 

Bella. 
Who  are  they  then  ? 

Burgomaster,  wildly. 
Who  are  they  ?     [  Calmly^  The  Cj^nocephalus. 

Bella. 
Oh,  dear  !    AVhich  ? 


HEREDITY.  189 

Burgomaster. 

All  three. 

Bella. 

That  is  utterly  idiotic. 

Burgomaster,  severely. 
Female  peasantess ! 

Bella. 
It  was  a  slip.     ICoaxingly']  Your  honor,  they 
have  done  nothing  to  you.     Let  me  have  one — 
the  little  one.     He  fell  in  love  with  me. 

Burgomaster,  with  the  air  of  Brutus, 
His  name  is  Smith. 

Bella. 
Is  that  a  reason  ?    Mine  is  Smith,  too.     Why 
not  arrest  me  ? 

Burgomaster,  sagely. 
I  thought  of  it.     [Tahes  snuff. 1 

Bella. 

Just  what  I  should  have  expected  from  you. 

Burgomaster,  dignified. 
Female  peasantess  ! 

Bella. 
It  was  a  slip.     [  Very  coaxingly']    But,  you 


190  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

dear,  good,  kind,  nice  old  general,  let  me  have  the 
little  one,  please. 

Burgomaster,  inexoralle. 
His  name  is  Smith. 

Bella,  qiiichly. 
So  is  yours. 

Burgomaster,  startled. 
So  it  is  !     Heavens  !    I  had  forgotten.     What 
shall  I  do  ?     The  orders  are  plain.     Perhaps  I 
am  the  Cynocephalus. 

Bella,  ivatcMng  Mm,  aside. 
Oh,  dear  !    What  is  the  matter  with  him  now  ? 

Burgomaster,  doiun  R. 
An  old  soldier  should  suffer  without  complain- 
ing. I  must  incarcerate  myself.  [Goes  majesti- 
cally to  door  L.  and  solemnly  returns  to  Bella  doiun 
L.  C]  [^Suspiciously^  You  are  sure  you  are  a 
girl  ? 

Bella,  angrily. 

Colonel,  you  are  an  impolite  old  boy !    I  am 
disgusted,  astonished,  and  astounded ! 

Burgomaster,  sagely,  aside. 
Such  mildness.     She  must  be  a  girl. 

[Exit  into  lioiise.     Lights  doton. 


HEREDITY.  191 

Bella. 

Oh,  dear !  how  disagreeable.  He  might  have 
left  me  one — the  little  one.  The  devastating  old 
reprobate.     And  how  dark  it  is  all  at  once  ! 

Swell,  on  dalcony,  Sporting   Gent  and  Drum 
Major  lehind  Mm, 
Psth !    Psth ! 

Bella,  loohing  up. 
Ah  !  there  he  is.     \_To  Siuell]  The  Burgomas- 
ter has  gone  inside. 

Swell. 
Hush  !    Speak  lower.     We  will  escape  by  this 

window. 

Bella. 
How? 

Swell. 

By  means  of  that  ladder,  which  I  see  there. 

[Points  R.] 

Bella. 

All  right.     [Sets  it  at  side  of  hotise.  ] 

Swell. 
By  Jove  !  ye  know,  it  is  dangerous  ;  but  I  shall 
risk  it.     Hold  firm  !     [Aside  to  audience]  Sensa- 
tion !  [He  descends  ladder  calmly — music  tremolo.  ] 

Bella. 
Heavens,  this  is  frightful !    [Drum  Major  and 
Sporting  Gent  descend.     Music  crescendo.] 


192  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Bella. 
Saved  !    Saved  at  last ! 

All. 
Saved  !     [Burlesque  sensation  tableau,  ] 

Sportikg  Gent. 
Now  to  escape. 

Bella,  up  C. 
Drum  Major,  R. 


Yes— 


We— 
Must — 
Escape — 


Swell,  C. 
Sporting  Gent,  L, 


QUARTET. 
Bella. 
Now  this  is  really  trying : 
The  time  has  come  for  flying  ; 
But  day  is  slowly  dying, 

And  we  sliall  be  in  the  dark. 

Swell. 
Let  each  one  stick  to  the  other, 
As  though  he  were  his  brother, 
And  never  make  any  bother, 

While  we  are  in  the  dark. 

[Chorus,  repeat  first  stanza. 


HEREDITY.  .     193 

Sporting  Gent. 
Without  running,  jumping,  leaping, 
But  softly,  gently  creeping, 
While  all  the  world  is  sleeping, 

We  steal  away  in  the  dark. 

[Chorus  as  hefm^e. 

Drum  Major. 
Ere  we  can  sing  a  ditty, 
We  must  be  out  of  the  city, 
Away  from  this  maiden  pretty, 
Alone  here  in  the  dark ! 
[Chorus  as  lefore^  ending  in  shorty  mysterious  dance. 

Swell,  L.  G. 
When  does  the  first  train  pass  ? 

Sporting  Gent. 
I  have  my  paper  in  my  pocket  \taTces  out  pa- 
per], but  I  can't  see.     ITo  prompter,  off  stage]. 
Turn  up  the  gas  a  little,  please.     [Lights  up.] 

Thank  you. 

Swell. 

The  latest  from  the  seat  of  war. 

All,  anxiously. 
Ah! 

Sporting  Gent.  • 

No  news. 

Swell,  looking  on  paper,  starting. 

Ah! 

13 


194  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

All. 
What? 

-  Swell. 
Here. 

All. 
Yes. 

Swell. 

See  !    [Pointing  to  paper,] 

All. 
Well? 

Swell,  reads. 

''  Information  wanted  of  a  Mr.  Smith,  who 
was  Colonel  of  the  Hackendrackenstackenfelstein 
Mounted  Fire  Extinguishers,  who  in  1832  lent 
money  to  one  Charley,  the  apple-pie  man." 

Bella. 
The  Burgomaster. 

Swell. 

Listen  !     "  The  said  Charley,  being  a  widow, 

died,  leaving  a  fortune  of  thirty-two  millions  to 

the  said  Smith." 

All. 

Thirty-two  millions.     Oh  ! 

Bella. 
You  lose  time  ;  you  must  fly. 

Swell. 
True.     [Aside,  going]  And  he  took  me  for 
his  son. 


HEREDITY.  195 

Spoetin'g  Gekt,  aside. 
After  all,  he  may  be  my  father. 

Drum  Majoe,  aside. 
Since  he  is  my  superior,  and  he  says  he  is  my 
father — 

Bella,  loohing  in  house  L. 
He  comes.     Hide. 

All. 
Yes.  {Enter  inn  R, 

Von  B.  enters  R.,  goes  L. 

Voivr  B. 
Your  honor,  another  telegram. 

BuEGOMASTER,  inside. 

What  is  it  ? 

Yo^  B. 

An  official  telegram. 

Burgomaster,  at  door,  taking  it. 
Heavens!    [von  B.  exits.]    "The  Cynoceph- 
alus  was  recaptured  this  morning  in  the  spire  of 
Trinity  Church."     [Comes  doiun  (7.]     Then  I  am 
free.     These  young  persons  are  innocent. 

Bella,  aside. 
Oh,  dear!    I  hope  he  won't  perceive  their 
flight. 


196  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

BUEGOMASTER. 

They  must  be  released. 

Swell,  at  the  door  of  inn,  overhearing,  aside. 
Release  us. 

Burgomaster,  tu7'ning,  sees  him. 
What  do  I  see  ? 

Bella,  aside. 
How  imprudent! 

Swell,  coming  doton,  followed  by  Sporting  Ge7it 
and  Drum  Major. 
Yes,  it  is  I.     I  had  escaped.     I  was  wrong. 
I  would  not  injure  a  noble  Burgomaster.     I  re- 
turn.    Arrest  me. 

Drum  Major,  heroically. 
Me. 

Sporting  Gent,  noUy. 
And  me. 

Burgomaster,  explaining. 
But— 

Swell. 

I  shall  obey  you  as  a  father. 

Burgomaster,  rapturously. 
A  father  ! 

Drum  Major. 

Colonel,  you  also  called  me  your  son. 


HEREDITY.  197 

BUKGOMASTEK. 

How  embarrassing  !    What  shall  I  do  ? 

Bella. 
Perhaps  they  are  all  your  sons. 

Swell,  Sporting  Gekt,  and  Deum  Majoe. 
Father !     [Kneeling,] 

Tableau. 

Buegomastee. 

Oh,  my  heart  is  distracted  !     My  sons  in  my 
arms — all  three.     [He  embraces  them  all.  ] 

Bella. 

Oh,  dear  !  this  is  affecting. 

Buegomastee,  rejecting  them  severely. 
Now  tell  me  why  you  left  the  tree  where  I 
placed  you  ? 

Deum  Major,  dubiously. 

The  tree  ? 

Spoeting  Gekt,  inquiringly. 
The  tree  ? 

Swell,  loildly. 
The  tree  ? 

Bella. 
They  have  forgotten. 


198  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Burgomaster. 
True,  it  was  long  ago.     [Sicdcle7ily]  Do  you 
remember  your  great-aunt,  Amethystenella  Smith? 

Bella,  surprised,  coming  down. 
Amethystenella  was  my  mother.  [Chord. 

All. 
Ah! 

Bella. 

Yes.     As  a  proof  of  it,  here  is  her  cross. 

All. 
Ah  !  her  mother's  cross. 

Bella. 
And  here  are  her  papers. 

Burgomaster. 
Can  she  be  my  niece  ?    [Trying  to  read  pa- 
pers.]   I  can't  read  with  my  boots  on.     [To  Swell] 

Read! 

Swell. 

Yes.     [Reads.]    Ha  !  Thith  ith  hith  aunt. 

Sporting  Gent,  lisps. 
Hith  aunt. 

Drum  Major,  lisps. 
Hith  aunt. 

Bella,  lisps. 
Hith  aunt. 


HEREDITY.  199 

CHORUS. 

Air  :  "He  has  his  boots." 

This  is  his  aunt,  [three  times]  he  never  knew  before. 
BUKGOMASTEB. 

Ith  is  my  aunt. 

Bella. 

Yes,  your  aunt.  Only  what  I  regret  is,  you 
did  not  find  it  out  before,  as  now  you  may  think 
I  recognize  you  on  account  of  your  fortune. 

Burgomaster,  mtonished. 
My  fortune. 

Drum  Major. 
Yes.     Charley  has  died  and  left  you  thirty- 
two  millions. 

Burgomaster. 

Charley  dead  !  Poor  old  fellow  !  Ah  !  my 
sons,  I  adopt  you  all ;  you  must  never  leave  me. 

Swell,  Sporti]S"G  Gen^t,  and  Drum  Major. 
We  won't. 

Burgomaster,  confidentially. 
We  ought  to  have  a  wedding  to  end  up. 

SvTELL,  L.  C.,  taking  Bella's  hand. 
We  will  see  to  that.     [To  Bella,  L.]    Won't 
we,  dearest  ? 


200  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Bella. 
Yes,  ducky. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  von  B.  enter  R, 

Mr.  vok  B. 
Our  married  life  begins  anew. 

Mrs.  voi^t  B. 

Yes,  we've  agreed  to  disagree. 

Burgomaster. 
All  right,  now  we  only  need  a  little  music  to 
end. 

MUSICAL  FINALE. 

Air  :  "  Yankee  Doodle." 
Burgomaster,  R.  C. 
To  sing  a  song  is  never  wrong, 
And  so  we'll  have  a  chorus. 
Your  stay  with  us  we'll  not  prolong, 
O  friends  we  see  before  us. 

All,  repeat  as  chorus. 
To  sing  a  song,  etc. 

Swell,  L.  C. 
Put  on  your  shawls !     These  mimic  halls 

"Will  soon  he  very  lonely. 
We  ask,  before  the  curtain  falls, 

Your  approbation  only. 


HEREDITY.  201 


All,  repeat  as  chorus. 
To  sing  a  song,  etc. 

Bella,  G. 
Here  we  all  stand,  a  timid  band, 

We  can  not  now  dissemble ; 
Until  you  give  what  we  demand, 

We  shiver,  shake,  and  tremble. 

All,  repeat  as  chorus. 
To  sing  a  song,  etc. 

CURTAI]!^. 


FRANK  WYLDE. 

COMEDY    IN     ONE    ACT. 
By  J.  BRANDER  MATTHEWS. 


CHARACTERS. 


Feakk  Wylde. 

Captain^    Culpepper    Coldspring,   of  Rio 
Janeiro,  Brazil, 

Mrs.  Juliet  Montague,  Ms  7iiece. 
Rose,  her  maid. 


[The  French  original  of  this  play  is  "  Le  Serment  d''Horace^^ 
writteu  by  M.  Henry  Miirger.] 


FEANK   WTLDE. 


Scene  :  A  handsome  parlor.  Doors  C,  K.  2  E., 
and  L.  1  E.  Fireplace  L.  2  E.  Clock  and 
handsome  vases  on  mantelpiece  L.  2  E.  Ta- 
ble R.,  with  books,  two  cheap  china  vases,  and 
Mrs.  Montague's  photograph  neatly  framed. 
Piano  L.  C,  with  two  cheap  china  vases  on 
it.  Mrs.  Montague's  miniature  on  wall  R. 
Sofa  before  fire  C.  Folded  screens  at  back 
L.  0. 

Rose  discovered,  lighting  gas. 

Rose. 
Well,  I  must  say  that  I  like  these  apartment 
houses  better  than  a  horrid  hotel.  French  flats 
they  call  'em.  I  don't  think  the  French  are  flats 
at  all  if  they  invented  these  houses  and  cooking, 
and  the  fashions  besides.  [  ClocTc  on  mantel  strikes 
eight.  ]  Eight !  She  must  be  done  dinner  by  this 
time  !    Ah  !    Here  she  is  ! 

Mrs.  Juliet  Montague,  entering  D.  C. 
Rose  ! 


206  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Rose. 
Yes,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Montague,  languidly. 
Bring  me  a  chair  by  the  fire  !    Not  that  one. 
An  arm-chair. 

Rose. 

Here,  ma'am.    [Putting  arm-chair  before  fire.  ] 

Mrs.  Montague. 
Those  elevators  are  always  so  cold.     [Sits  and 
warms  her  feet.']    Has  the  Captain  come  in  yet  ? 

Rose. 
No,  ma'am. 

Captain  Culpepper  Coldspring  throws  open 
D.  C,  rushes  in  violently,  very  angry. 

The  devil  take  New  York  and  the  New-York- 
ers. They're  a  pack  of  ninnies  !  fools  !  [Shout- 
ing'] Idiots  ! 

Rose,  hurriedly ,  bringing  vase  from  piano. 

Here,  sir!  [Captain  smashes  it  angrily  on 
floor,  and  rushes  off,  hanging  door  L.  IE.] 
[Frightened]  Ah  ! 

Mrs.  Montague,  very  calmly,  glancing  at  herself 
in  a  mirror. 
Well,  Rose,  what's  the  matter  ? 


FRANK  WYLDE.  207 

Rose. 
I  shall  neyer  get  used  to  the  Captain,  ma'am. 
He's  very  savage. 

Mks.  Montague. 
I  suppose  lie  has  been  quarreling.  \_Calmly'] 
I  hope  he  has  not  killed  anybody.  Gather  up  the 
fragments,  Rose ;  put  them  with  the  others  ! 
\^Rose  picJcs  up  hits  of  china  vase,  and  th^oius  them 
in  lashet  lehind  fireplace  L.  2  E,^  And  in  case 
his  wrath  is  not  yet  assuaged,  have  another  fire- 
escape — safety-valve — lightning-rod  ready  for  him! 

Captaik,  off  L. 
Rose  !     {Entering  L.  1  E.'\    Rose  ! 


Rose 

1,  goi^ig  for  another  vase. 

Sir? 

CAPTAIiq-. 

Lay  to ! 

Rose,  surprised. 

Lay  to  ? 

Captaik,  sharply. 

Lay  to ! 

Rose. 

But,  sir- 

-I- 

CAPTAI2S. 

Stop! 

Rose. 
Ah  !    I  see !    Never  having  navigated,  sir,  I 
didn't  know.     After  this  I'll  lay  to  ! 


208  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Captai:n-. 
Shut  up  !     I  don't  like  your  voice  !    Get  an- 
other organ  or  I'll  discharge  you  ! 

Rose. 
But,  sir,  indeed,  I — 

Captain. 
Silence  !  Take  this  money  and  give  it  to  that 
waiter  of  Delmonico's  outside  !  [Shouting]  Why 
don't  you  go  ?  [Bose  jumps,  frightened,  and  exit 
(7.]  That  girl  irritates  my  nerves !  [About  to 
take  vase  from  mantelpiece.] 

Mrs.  Moktague,  calmly. 
Excuse  me,  uncle,  one  of  these.     [Pointing 
to  cheap  vases  on  table.]     If  it's  the  same  to  you  ? 

Captaik. 
I  have  no  preference  !   Besides,  I  am  calm  now. 

Mrs.  Montague,  tranquilly. 
What  has  happened  ?    I  am  all  anxiety. 

Captain,  warming  his  coat-tails  at  fire. 
Nothing  much  !  only  this,  in  fact.  I  was  puffing 
a  Partaga  on  Broadway,  and  I  met  Pacheco  Go- 
mez; you  remember  Gomez  ?  Eh  ?  Not  a  bad 
fellow  at  all,  for  a  greaser  ;  they  hung  him  three 
times  in  Paraguay  during  Lopez's  day. 


FRANK  WYLDE.  209 

Mrs.  Montague. 


Is  he  well  ? 


Captain. 
Bad  cold.  '' Ooldspring  I"  said  he.  *' Go- 
mez!" said  I.  ''Yes!"  said  he.  ''Come  and 
dine  I "  said  I.  And  so  we  walked  into  Delmoni- 
co's  and  had  a  good  dinner,  except  the  fish,  too 
old,  and  the  sherry,  too  young.  I  call  for  the  bill 
and  wait  ten,  fifteen,  twenty  minutes,  by  the 
watch.     At  last  the  bill  comes. 

Mrs.  Montague,  calmly. 
Yes? 

Captain. 

But  it  was  not  for  me,  but  for  a  gentleman  who 
dined  near  us.  I  told  him  very  politely  that  I  had 
asked  for  my  bill  before  him,  and  I  forbade  his  pay- 
ing before  me  or  I  would  break  a  bottle  on  his 

head. 

Mrs.  Montague,  tranquilly. 

Well? 

Captain. 

Well,  he  pays,  and  I  present  him  with  a  bottle 
of  claret,  on  the  head.  Chateau  Margaux,  '49. 

Mrs.  Montague. 
You  killed  him  ? 

Captain. 
Good  claret  never  hurt  anybody.     He  returned 
my  favor  by  a  Due  de  Montebello,  extra  sec.     A 
14 


210  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

battle  is  waged  in  the  Chami3agne  country.  Eow, 
shouts,  everything  topsy-turvy.  The  waiters 
rush  in.  Gomez  and  I  seize  two  slaves  and  hurl 
them  through  the  window.  General  astonish- 
ment. Eow  ;  police  ;  smash — dinner,  $25  ;  other 
luxuries,  180  ;  total,  $105.  Things  are  so  dear 
in  New  York.  Ah  !  Juliet,  you  had  better  come 
back  to  Brazil. 

Mrs.  Moktague. 
Never  again  !    I  love  New  York. 

Captain",  throwing  himself  on  sofa  hy  Mrs. 

Montague. 
Then  acknowledge  that  I'm  a  pretty  good  spe- 
cimen of  an  uncle.  Your  old  husband  exploring 
the  Pampas  is  bitten  by  a  snake  :  in  twelve  min- 
utes you  are  a  widow  ;  in  twelve  days  you  are  con- 
soled. 

Mrs.  Montague. 

Oh,  uncle  !    Oh  ! 

Captain. 
My  dear,  we  are   alone  !    You  curbed    your 
sorrow  carefully,  I  can  certify. 

Mrs.  Montague. 
I  assure  you — 

Captain. 
You  wept  for  your  husband  twelve  days ;  you 
might  have  finished  the  fortnight ;  you  didn't — 


FRANK  WYLDE.  211 

that's  your  lookout.  On  the  thh'teenth  day  you 
cried,  ''I  am  free,  dear  uncle,  good  uncle,  kind 
uncle  ;  I  want  to  see  New  York."  And  here  we 
are  ! 

Mes.  Montague,  hissing  Mm, 

You  dear,  good,  kind  old  uncle  ! 

Captain. 
Exactly.      For   you  I   have    abandoned   my 
adopted  country,  my  dear  Brazil.    And  to  think 
you  could  give  me  back  all  this — all  that  I  have 
given  up. 

Mrs.  Moktague. 
How? 

Captain. 
Remarry  !    Try  Cuttyback  ! 

Mes.  Montague,  rising. 
A  commonplace  commission-merchant !    Nev- 
er !    Besides,  I  don't  like  Mr.  Cuttyback  ! 

Captain. 
He  is  rich,  and  yet  young — only  thirty-two. 
The  mean  of  human  life  is  thirty-three.  Cutty- 
back has  only  one  year  more.  In  another  year 
you  are  again  a  widow.  That  don't  matter  ;  you 
make  a  jolly  little  widow  ! 

Mrs.  Montague. 
Uncle,  you  are  a  wretch  ! 


212  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

CAPTAI2f. 

If  Cuttyback  is  not  amenable  to  these  statistics, 

just  return  to  Brazil ;  inoculate  him  with  a  taste 

for  botany ;  he  wanders  o'er   the   Pampas,  and 

then — pop  !    The  happy  serpent  that  made  you 

a  widow  has  probably  brought  up  a  struggling 

family. 

Mrs.  MoN'TAGue. 

Uncle,  you  are  atrocious  ! 

C APTAiF,  toasting  his  feet  and  chuchling. 
Ha  !  ha  !    I  must  have  my  joke.    Poor  Cutty- 
back  !    Josiah  Cuttyback  !     Has  he  been  courting 

to-day  ? 

Mrs.  Moktague. 
No! 

Captaik. 
Perhaps  he  forgot  it,  he  is  so  absent-minded. 
Perhaps  he  called  while  you  were  out.      Rose  I 

Kose  ! 

Rose,  entering  C. 
Sir? 

Captaik. 
Has  Mr.  Cuttyback  called  to-day  ? 

Rose. 
No,  sir. 

Captain. 
He  forgot  it.      Absent-minded  Cuttyback! 
[^Takes  his  hat.] 


FRANK  WYLDE.  213 

Mks.  Montague. 
Are  you  going  out  ? 

Captaiit. 
For  a  minute  only.     Gomez  and  I  are  going 
to  have  a  Mocha  and  a  fire-water  together  at  the 
Hoffmann.     Ah  !     By  the  by,  Eose,  have  they 
brought  my  coat  ? 

Rose. 
Not  yet,  sir. 

CAPTAiiq-. 
If  the  tailor  comes,  tell  him  to  wait.     [An- 
grily] Do  you  hear  ? 

Rose,  jumping. 
Yes,  sir ;  of  course. 

Captaik. 
These  servants  are  so  stupid.     In  Brazil,  where 
they  are  black,  you  can  sell  them.     But  she  is 
white.     You  have  not  the  right. 

Rose. 
That's  a  very  good  thing  ! 

Captain. 
This  girl — this  Rose,  now,  is  insupportable. 
Now,  if  she  were  only  black,  she'd  bring  a  thou- 
sand dollars. 

Rose,  indignantly. 

A  thousand  dollars,  indeed  !   I  should  think  so  ! 


214  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Captain". 
Let's  see  your  teeth.     Whew  !    Perhaps  twelve 
hundred.      But  she's  white.      You  haven't  the 
right.  [Puts  on  hat  and  exit  C. 

EOSE. 

What  a  tiger ! 

Mks.  Montague,  rising  languidly. 
My  uncle  goes  out  very  often.  [Sig'hs.'\  I'll 
try  the  piano.  [Plays  a  feio  notes,  then  rises.  ] 
Oh,  it's  false  !  It  wants  tuning — so  do  I.  [^Sits 
on  sofa.l  Eose,  I'm  very  bored.  Do  you  know 
what  ennui  is  ? 

EOSE. 

Yes,  ma'am  ;  it's  a  French  word. 

Mks.  Montague. 
Eose ! 

EosE. 
Ma'am  ? 

Mrs.  Montague. 
Tell  me  a  fairy  story.     [  Yawns  and  leans  hack.  ] 

Eose,  laughing. 
Certainly,  ma'am.  ^'  Once  upon  a  time  there 
was  a  beautiful  princess,  who  was  a  widow,  and 
beautiful — oh,  so  beautiful  !  —  as  beautiful  as 
Cleopatrick.  One  day,  coming  from  the  bath, 
she  saw   Prince   Charming — oh,    so  handsome  ! 


FRANK    WYLDE.  215 

SO  young  !  only  eighteen — and  such  a  lovely  mus- 
tache." 

Mes.  Montague. 

Your  tale  is  false,  Rose.  Prince  Charming 
was  a  commission-merchant  in  Pearl  Street,  and 
his  name  was  Josiah  Cuttyback.  [Bell  rings.'] 
There  he  is  now.     Let  him  in. 

Rose,  sighing. 
Yes,  ma'am.  [Exit  C, 

Mrs.  Montague. 

He  comes  in  the  nick  of  time.     I  shall  proceed 

to  make  him   miserable.      All   men  like  being 

made  miserable,   and  then  it  may  amuse  me. 

\Rose  enters  C,  with  a  card  on  a  salver.']    Ask 

him  in,  Rose. 

Rose. 

Yes,  ma'am — but  it's  not  Mr.  Cuttyback. 

Mrs.  Montague. 
Indeed ! 

Rose. 

He  sent  in  his  card. 

Mrs.  Montague,  reading. 
^'Mr.  Frank  Wylde."     I   don't  know  him. 
But  perhaps  he  is  some  friend  of  uncle's.     Ask 
him  in. 

Rose  goes  to  door  C,  and  admits   Frank 


216  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Wylde,  ivlio  has  a  light  overcoat  over  his  arm 
and  a  note-booh  in  his  hand. 

Feai^k,  howing. 
Pray  excuse  the  intrusion,  madam. 

Rose,  aside. 
I  know  it's  him  !  [Exit  G, 

Feank. 

I  have  the  honor  of  addressing  \loohing  in 
note-look']  Mrs.  Juliet  Montague  ? 

Mes.  Montague. 

Yes,  sir. 

Feakk. 

Haight  House,  second  floor,  number  two  ? 

Mes.  Moktague. 
Yes,  sir.     \^Aside'\  This  is  rather  odd. 

Feank  pockets  note-booh,  and,  draiuing  white 
pochet-handher chief  from  his  pocket,  spreads  it 
on  the  carpet  and  kneels. 

Feank. 
Very  well.     All  right  so  far.     Madam,  I  have 
the  honor  of  offering  you  my  hand  and  heart. 

Mes.  Montague,  rising  in  surprise. 
Your  hand  ? 


FRANK  WYLDE.  217 

Frank. 
And  heart.     Both.     I  know  you're  going  to 
say  you  don't  know  me.     True,  I  don't  know  you 
either.     You  see,  if  we  knew  each  other,  it  would 
no  longer  be  fun. 

Mes.  Montague,  very  calmly. 
A  lunatic,  an  escaped  madman,  in  my  room  ! 

Frank,  trying  to  start  conversation. 
You  see,  madam,  I — 

Mrs.  Montague,  pointing  to  door. 
Leave  me  instantly,  sir  ! 

Frank. 
But— 

Mrs.    Montague   touches  hell  on   table.     Rose 
enters  G. 
Show  Mr. —   Show  this  gentleman  to  the  door. 

Rose. 
Yes,  ma'am. 

Frank. 

The  deuce!  [Exit  C,  hoiuing profusely. 

Mrs.   Montague   tliinhs  a  momenty  and  then 
laughs. 
Ah  !  ah  !  There's  a  way  of  proposing  !  '^  I  have 
the  honor  of  offering  you  my  hand  and  heart." 


218  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

All !  ah  !     How  comic  !    I  ought  to  have  let  this 
eccentric  being  remain.  He  might  have  amused  me. 

Fkank,  entering  quicMy  C, 
He  asks  nothing  better,  madam.     Let  us  haye 
the  kindness  to  be  seated. 

Mrs.  Moktague. 
But,  sir,  to  whom  have  I  the  honor  of  speaking? 

Frank. 
Certainly.  Mr.  Frank  Wylde.  [^Boius,  draws 
itp  a  chair,  and  sits.']  Frank  Wylde,  by  name 
and  nature.  My  friends  say  I'm  frank,  and  my 
most  intimate  enemies  say  I'm  wild.  My  age — a 
certain  age.  I  have  arrived  at  years  of  indiscre- 
tion. My  weight — one  hundred  and  thirty-three 
in  the  shade.  My  fortune — twenty  thousand  a 
year.     My  profession  [sadly] — unfortunate  ! 

Mrs.  Montague. 
You  have  a  lucrative  practice. 

Frank,  coyifidentially. 
I'm  a  gentleman  of  elegant  leisure.  My  fa- 
ther, unfortunately,  left  me  a  fortune,  and  I  have 
nothing  to  do  except  to  spend  money  and  time  ; 
and  I  find  it  very  hard  work  indeed.  Do  you 
know,  I  think  a  man  that  has  nothing  to  do  is  a 
nuisance  to  his  friends  and  himself — at  least,  I 
find  it  so. 


FRANK  WYLDE.  219 

Mks.  Moktague. 
So  do  I. 

Fran^k. 

I  am  glad  you  agree  with  me.  Yes,  madam, 
my  life  is  very  monotonous.  I  get  up — I  break- 
fast—I  read  the  papers.  Nothing  new,  of  course. 
I  driye — I  dine — I  go  to  the  club  or  the  theatre ; 
perhaps  I  have  supper.  I  go  to  bed — I  sleep — 
and  the  next  day  [tragicaUy]— the  next  day  I 
begin  again  ! 

Mrs.  Mon^tague. 

I  sympathize  with  you. 

FRAlifK. 

Thank  you,  madam.  You  see,  having  no- 
thing to  do,  I  naturally  want  to  do  something — 
anything !  everything  !  Eiding  as  I  do  in  the 
Fifth  Avenue  omnibus  of  monotony,  I  need  nov- 
elty. I  thirst  for  novelty !  I  die  for  novelty ! 
[Looking  at  his  watch.]  Please  pay  attention, 
madam.  I  can  give  you  only  four  minutes  more. 
Listen !  I  was  at  a  reception  yesterday ;  I  left 
early,  and  took  the  wrong  overcoat  by  mistake, 
and  in  the  pocket  I  found  the  novelty. 

Mrs.  Moktague. 
Indeed ! 

Frakk. 
Yes,  madam.     I  found  the  long-sought  nov- 


220  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

elty,  bound  in  Eussian  leather.    'Tis  liere.    [Show- 
ing note-booh.^ 

Mrs.  Moktague,  reading. 
'^Cuttyback!" 

Frank. 
Josiah  Cuttyback,  a  commission-merchant,  an 
absent-minded  gentleman,  too,  for  he  has  written 
over  night  all  his  intentions  for  the  next  day. 

Mrs.  Montague. 
Ah!    Ah!    I  see  I 

Frank. 

Madam,  you  are  perspicacious .  My  life  bored 
me.  I  said  :  "  Suppose  I  try  Cuttyback's  life  ? 
I  have  nothing  to  do.  Suppose  I  do  what  Cutty- 
back  has  to  do  ? "  Here  is  the  programme  of  his 
day's  work — I  have  sworn  to  follow  it  faithfully. 
[Ojpens  note-iooJc.] 

Mrs.  Montague. 
I  confess  my  curiosity. 

Frank. 
''First :  Buy  40  bags  Java  coffee  and  75  bar- 
rels sugar."  It  is  done.  You  may  well  say  it  is 
too  much  for  a  bachelor,  but  my  morning  coffee 
is  assured  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  It  is  done.  I 
erase.     '^Second  :  At  7.30  p.  m.  offer  Mrs.  Juliet 


FRANK  WYLDE.  221 

Montague,  Haight  House,  second  floor,  number 
two,  my  hand  and  heart."  I  beg  you  to  remem- 
ber that  at  exactly  thirty  minutes  past  seven  I 
suspended  myself  on  your  door-bell.  "  Third  : 
Don't  stand  any  nonsense  from  the  uncle,  old 
Culpepper  !  If  necessary,  be  disrespectful ! " 
This  paragraph  is  illustrated. 

Mks.  Montague. 
Illustrated !    How  ? 

FEAiq^K. 

A  horizontal  leg  is  directed  toward  a  gentle- 
man looking  the  other  way.  A  dangerous  para- 
graph, not  fulfilled  yet.     I  do  not  erase. 

Mes.  Montague. 
What,  sir  !    Would  you  dare  ? 

Feank. 
Madam,  I  have  sworn  a  solemn  oath  !  Lastly 
— '* Fourth:  At  eight  o'clock,  take  a  Turkish 
bath.  Remember  and  have  Mustapha  rub  me 
down."  [Rising]  Gracious  heavens !  Is  your 
clock  right  ? 

Mes.  Montague. 
Yes,  sir. 

Feank. 

Eight  o'clock  !  Excoriated  at  the  idea  of 
leaving  you,  madam — but  duty  calls.  "I  go, 
but  I  return  ! " 


232  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR   ACTING. 

Mrs.  Montague. 
That  will  be  unnecessary,   sir.      If  this  is  a 
wager,  you  have  won  it. 

Frank. 

It  is  not  a  wager,  madam — it  is  an  oath  I 
swore.  I  obey.  I  return.  Mustapha  must  not 
be  kept  waiting.  The  purification  completed,  I 
return. 

Mrs.  Montague. 

No,  sir.     Never  again  ! 

Frank. 
I  go,  but  I  return.  [Exit  C, 

Mrs.  Montague. 
He's  a  lunatic.     And  here  my  uncle  leaves  me 
exposed  to —     [Laughs]     Ah  !   ah !    Decidedly, 
he  is  eccentric.     "1  go,  but  I  return."    I  hope 
he  will  not,  and  yet —    [Rings  hell.  ] 

Rose,  entering  (7. 
You  rang,  ma'am  ? 

Mrs.  Montague. 

Open  the  windows  here  !  The  room  is  close  ! 
[Bell  heard.]     There's  Mr.  Cuttyback  ! 

Rose. 
Shall  I  ask  him  in  ? 


FRANK   WYLDE.  223 

Mks.  Montague. 
N— no.     Say  Mrs.  Montague  is  not  very  well, 
and  desires  to  be  excused. 

[Exit  R.  2  E.,  hell  rings  furiously. 

Rose,  going  to  door  G. 
Cuttyback  is  in  a  hurry.     [Opens  door  C] 

Feank,  rushing  in  quickly. 
I  am  furious  !  Mustapha  bad  gone  to  Kalybia 
—to  Ujiji— to  look  for  Stanley,  and  will  not  be 
back  for  a  year.  Too  bad!  {Looks  around.^ 
Why  !  where  is  she  ?  Well,  I  like  that !  She 
knew  I  was  coming  back,  and  yet  she  does  not 
remain  !  Some  people  really  have  no  idea  of 
savoir  faire  or  savoir  vivre. 

Rose,  aside. 
I'm  sure  it  is  he  !     [Aloud]    Mr.  Frank  ! 

Frank. 
My  name  ! 

Rose. 

Don't  you  recognize  me  ?    I  am  Rose. 

Frank. 
Rose  !    What  Rose  ? 

Rose. 
I  used  to  be  lady's  maid  to  Miss  Montmorency. 


224  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Feank. 
Ah,  yes  !     [  Changing  tone]    What  Montmo- 
rency ? 

Rose. 

Miss  Mary  Montmorency,  the  prima  donna 
who  used  to  live  in  Bleecker  Street ! 

Feank. 
Ah,  yes  !  of  course  ;  but,  Rose,  you  will  under- 
stand that  I  scarcely  wish  to  discuss  such  a  sub- 
ject as  Miss  Montmorency  of  Bleecker  Street,  now, 
at  the  present  time,  when  I  offer  Mrs.  Montague 
my  heart  and  hand. 

Rose. 
You're  going  to  marry  her  ? 

Feank. 
Marry  her  ?     \^Looks  in  note-hook.']     No,  I 
think  not — no.     I  only  offered  her  my  hand  and 
heart.     That's  all. 

Rose. 
Why  not  marry  her  ?    She's  a  widow. 

Feank. 

Oh,  ho  !     It's  a  second  edition,  then  !     [Looks 
at  miniature.  ]     Who's  that  ? 

Rose. 
That's  her  portrait. 


FRANK  WYLDE.  225 

Frank,  talcing  it. 
Per  hacco  !  she's  pretty — very  pretty — quite 
pretty  !   I  had  not  noticed  her  !    [Pockets  minia- 
ture,^ 

EOSE. 

Mr.  Frank,  you  mustn't  take  it ! 

Frank. 
Why  not  ?    I'll  send  back  the  frame. 

Rose. 
Oh,  no,  Mr.  Frank  ;  giye  it  back  at  once  ! 

Frank,  not  minding  her. 
Rose,  who's  this  ?    [Takes photograph.] 

Rose. 
That's  her,  too. 

Frank. 
Indeed  !    Her  photo.     You  don't  say  !    Why, 
she's  an  angel !  a  houri !     [Pockets  photograph.] 

"  O  woman,  in  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 
Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  lier  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace !  " 

Rose. 

Please  give  it  back  ! 

Frank. 
I'll  return  the  frame  ! 
15 


226  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Rose. 
But,  Mr.  Frank— 

Feank. 
Don't  bother  !  it  isn't  yours  ! 

Rose. 
That's  true.      It's   her   lookout,   not   mine. 
[Tur7is  up  L.]     Why,  they've  let  the  fire  out. 

Frai^k. 
Are  you  cold  ?     [Kisses  her.] 

Rose. 

Oh! 

Frank. 

I've  struck  a  light ! 

Captain,  rushing  in  C. 
The  devil  take  New  York  and  the  New-York- 
ers.    They're  a  pack  of  fools !   ninnies  !   idiots ! 
[Shouting]     Idiots ! 

Rose,  bringing  vase. 
Here  you  are,  sir  ! 

Captain",  smashing  it. 
Bang  !    Ah  !    I  feel  better.         [Exit  L.  1  E. 

Frank. 
Who  is  this  typhoon  ? 


FRANK  WYLDE.  227 

KOSE. 
It's  old  Culpepper — her  uncle. 

[^Exit  C,  with  broken  vase. 

Frank. 

Old  Culpepper — her  uncle !    The  illustrated 
paragraph  !     Per  lacco  !  it  won't  be  so  easy. 

Captaijs",  enteri7ig  L. 
Here,  Eose,  take  this  fifty-dollar  bill !    I  say  ! 
is  there  nobody  here  ?    [Throws  his  cigar-stump 
on  FranFsfeet.] 

Fea:n^k. 

Look  out,  there ! 

Captaii^. 

You're  a  nuisance  !     Go  away  !    Can  you  un- 
derstand a  simple  story  ? 

Feakk. 
I  think  so,  if  it's  yery  simple. 

Captain. 
I  was  in  the  cafe  of  Delmonico's.     Some  fel- 
lows were  talking  about  shooting  and  their  skill. 
It  annoyed  me. 

Feank. 
Why  ? 

Captain. 
Don't  be  so  inquisitive  !     It  annoyed  me,  I 
say  !    I  drew  this  revolver  from  my  pocket — 


228  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Fkank,  uneasy, 
I  say,  there,  it  isn't  loaded  ? 

Captain. 
Oh,  yes,  one  barrel ! 

Fean^k. 
That's  enough. 

Captain". 
When  the  waiter  brought  me  a  light  for  my 
cigar — ^bang  !    I  snuff  it  at  twenty  paces. . 

Feakk. 
Ah,  ha  !    And  you  killed  a  mirror  ! 

Captain. 
Dead !    Fifty  dollars.     How  dear  things  are 
in  New  York.     Rose !    Rose !     That  girl  will 
never  come  !     [^Puts  revolver  on  piano  and  pulls 
bell'Cord — it  Irealcs.]    Rose  ! 

Feank. 
Let  me  help  you.     Rose  !  Rose  ! 

Captain. 
Oh,  these  servants  ! 

Feank. 
Horrible  !  aren't  they  ? 


FRANK  WYLDE.  229" 

Both,  going  up  C, 
Rose  !    Rose  !    Rose  ! 

Fban^k. 
You're  lively.     You  are — 

Oaptaii^. 
No,  I  am  calm. 

Frakk. 
Ah!    Yes! 

Captain. 
I  only  get  wrathy  for  sanitary  reasons.     If  I 
was  calm  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  I 
should  fear  a  stroke  of  apoplexy.     [Anxiously] 

Am  I  red  ?    . 

Frank. 
Very ! 

Captain. 

That  girl  will  be  the  death  of  me  !    Rose ! 

[Bangs  table.} 

Frank. 

Rose  !  [Aside]  From  a  cursory  examination 
I  should  say  his  character  was  a  cheerful  com- 
pound of  cayenne  and  curry  !  [Aloud]  Rose  ! 
Rose  !  Ah  !  an  idea  !  [Fires  revolver  up  chim- 
ney.] 

Rose,  entering  G. 

You  rang,  sir  ? 

Captain. 
Ah!    Ah!    That's  an  idea  !    Thank  you! 


230  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Frank. 
Don't  mention  it.     [They  shahe  hands.^ 

Captaii^. 
Eose,  give  this  money  to  that  waiter. 

Rose. 
Yes,  sir.  [Exit  O. 

Captaiis^. 
Ah  !    That's  better  !    Now  I  have  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  to  be  amiable. 

Frank. 
Ah  !    Ah  !     [Aside]   He  is  amiable,  and  the 
pistol  is  not  loaded.     Now  is  the  time  for  Para- 
graph Four.     [Shakes  Ms  leg.] 

Captain. 
What's  the  matter  with  your  leg  ?    Eh  ? 

Frank. 
I'm  a  little  like  you — nervous  !     [Captain  re- 
loads pistol.]    I  say  !   what  are  you  doing  ? 

Captain. 
I  always  keep  it  loaded — for  contingencies  ! 

Frank,  aside. 
It  won't  be  so  easy,  after  all.     I  prefer  not  to 
be  a  contingency. 


FRANK  WYLDE.  231 

Mrs.  Montague,  entering  R. 
Good    evening,    nncle.      \_Sees    Franh    how, 
laugJis.]     All!    Ali !    You  here  still,  sir  ? 

Feank. 
Yes,  madam,  I — 

Mrs.  Montague. 
Indeed,  tliis  persistence  is  peculiar !     What 
do  you  want  ?    I  do  not  know  you. 

Frank,  bowing. 
No! 

Captain. 

You  don't  know  him  ?  I  don't,  either.  Ah  ! 
Ah  !  Here  I've  been  talking  to  him  for  half  an 
hour. 

Mrs.  Montague. 

He  is  a  gentleman  who  offers  me  his  hand  and 
heart. 

Captain. 
Indeed  ! 

EosE  enters  C. 

Frank,  bowing. 
Yours  truly,  Frank  Wylde. 

Captain. 
But  he  is  laughing  at  us.     Eose,  you  are  a 
maid  of  all  work ;  throw  this  gentleman  out  of 
the  window ! 


232  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Rose. 

Oh,  sir  ! 

Feank. 
Oh,  sir  ! 

Mrs.  Montague,  coldly. 

Rose,  Mr.  Wylde's  hat. 

Frank. 
Certainly,  madam,  but  under  these  altered  cir- 
cumstances I  have  no  longer  the  right  to  keep 
anything  that  belongs  to  you — here  is  your  por- 
trait. 

Captain. 
Your  portrait ! 

Mrs.  Montague. 

But,  sir — 

Frank. 
I  had  taken  it. 

Captain. 
Why? 

Frank. 

To  keep  it.  Here's  your  photograph,  too. 
Please  excuse  me.  I  have  executed  every  para- 
graph, except  one,  and  that  was  only  owing  to 
unforeseen  circumstances  beyond  my  control.  I 
have  done  my  best,  at  least.  Here  is  Mr.  Cutty- 
back's  note-book  !     [Mrs.  Montague  takes  it,^ 

Captain. 
Cuttyback  !    I  don't  understand  ! 


FRANK   WYLDE.  233 

Frakk. 
That's   unnecessary.      Good-by,  •  madam.      I 
hope  your  future  but  absent-minded  husband  will 
not  forget  to  make  you  happy. 

Mrs.  Montague. 
He  will  not,  if  he  carries  out  Paragraph  Five  ! 

Frakk. 
Excuse  me,  there  is  no  Paragraph  Five  ! 

Mrs.  Moktague. 
There  is — over  the  page.    It  is  indispensable  ! 

Frakk,  anxiously. 
What  is  it,  madam  ? 

Mrs.  Montague. 

You  should  have  turned  the  leaf.     YPochets 
note-booh.'] 

Rose,  tulio  has  read  over  Mrs.  Montague^ s 

slioulder,  aside. 
Ah!    Ah!    I  see! 

Mrs.  Montague. 
Rose,  show  Mr.  Wylde  out ! 

Rose. 
Yes,  ma'am.     ^Aside]  Ah  !     Ah  !     That's  a 
good  joke ! 


234  COMEDIES   FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Frank,  discouraged. 
What  can  it  be  ? 

Captain,  furiously. 
Are  you  going  ? 

Frank. 
Ah  !   your  quarter  of  an  hour  is  up  ?    Well,  I 
also  am  wrathy  !  enraged  !  furious  ! 

Captain. 
Egad,  sir ! 

Frank. 
Egad,  sir ! 

Captain. 

Thousand  thunders  ! 

Frank. 

Certainly,  thousand  thunders !  Paragraph 
Five.  I  shall  find  it,  sooner  or  later.  In  an  era 
when  telegraphs,  telephones,  and  railroads  have 
been  invented,  I  at  least  can  discover  a  paltry 
Paragraph  Five.  I  must  find  it !  [Talcing  and 
smashing  vase.']  Ah!  That's  better.  [To  Cap- 
tain] You  are  right !  It  does  relieve  one's  feel- 
ings. 

Captain,  threatening. 

Will  you  go  ?    Thousand  thunders  ! 

Frank. 

I  will  go  !  Two  thousand  thunders  !  Rose, 
show  me  out !  [Exit  C.  with  Rose. 


FRANK  WYLDE.  235 

Oaptaik,  furious. 
Thousand  thunders  !     [Calmly']    I  like  that 
fellow.     What  is  it  all  about  ? 

Mes.  Montague. 
Merely  this  :   That  fellow  found  Mr.  Cutty- 
back's  note-book,  in  which  he  had  written  his 
work  for  the  day — 

Captain. 
Well? 

Mrs.  Montague. 

And  that  fellow  swore  to  carry  out  Mr.  Cutty- 
back's  programme. 

Captain. 

Indeed  ?    Let  us  be  on  our  guard.     [^Rose  en- 
ters C.~\     Perhaps  he  is  a  sneak-thief  ! 

Rose. 

Mr.  Frank  ?     Oh,  dear,  no  !    He  is  rich  and 

generous  ! 

Mrs.  Montague. 
Be  still ! 

Captain. 

How  do  you  know  ? 

Rose. 

I  was  once  with  one  of  his — relatives,  Mrs. 

Bleecker. 

Captain. 

He  is  allied  to  the  aristocracy  of  Manhattan. 

Bleecker  is  a  Knickerbocker  name !  [  Cloch  strikes.  ] 


236  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR   ACTING. 

Mrs.  Moktague. 

Eleven  ! 

Captain. 

I  did  not  think  it  was  so  late.     Good  night ! 

Mrs.  Montague. 
I  do  not  need  you,  Rose.     Good  night,  uncle. 

Captain. 
Good  night,  my  dear.     What  a  day  ! 

Mrs.  Montague. 
And  what  a  night ! 

Captain. 
Ohj  yes,  the  note-book !     [Laughs.]     Poor 
Cuttyback  ! 

[Fxit  L.  1  E,  Mrs.  Montague  exit  R.  2 
E.  Rose  exit  G.  Stage  darh  and  quiet. 
Door  C.  opens  softly. 

Frank,  entering  C.  with  casTcet  in  his  hand. 
It's  I.  I  am  here.  I've  found  the  Paragraph 
Five.  It  was  at  home  in  one  of  my  drawers. 
Here  it  is.  That  Eose  is  an  intelligent  girl. 
Perhaps  it  is  a  little  late  to  present  one's  self  in  a 
respectable  house.  Especially  when  one  is  not 
invited.     [Loohs  at  watch.]    Half -past  eleven  ! 

Captain,  off  L. 
The  devil  take  this  house !    I  can't  find  my 
dressing-gown  !    Thousand  thunders  ! 


FRANK  WYLDE.  237 

Feank. 
The  menagerie.  On  guard!  [Crosses  E.] 
The  doye-cot  must  be  here.  My  Juliet  is  the  sun 
— here  is  the  east.  [Lighting  gas  calmly.  ]  Josiah 
Cuttyback,  commission-merchant,  is  a  fine  fellow. 
He  has  excellent  taste.  Mrs.  Montague  is  a 
charming  woman.  [Reflectively]  Of  all  wild 
beasts,  woman  is  the  most  dangerous.  But  I  have 
had  some  experience  in  the  menagerie .  Ah  !  It 
looks  jollier  with  the  lights.  Now  for  business. 
[Taps  at  door  R.  2  E.,  and  hides  up  R.] 

Mks.  Moktague,  at  door  R.  2  E. 
These  lights  !    What  can  it  mean  ? 

Feank,  coming  forward. 
It  is  I,  madam. 

Mes.  Moktague,  angrily. 
You,  sir  ?    Again  ? 

Feank. 

Again,  and  always ! 

Mes.  Montague. 
Leave  the  room,  sir  ! 

Feank. 

That  is  impossible,  madam,  until  I  have  ful- 
filled my  self-imposed  mission. 


238  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Mes.  Mok^tague,  ])ointing  to  Captain's  door. 
You  will  force  me  to  call  for  aid. 

Feank. 
If  you  but  open  that  cage,  madam,  you  will 
read  in  the  papers  to-morrow  :  "Yesterday  even- 
ing a  horrible  and  heart-rending  catastrophe  oc- 
curred in  one  of  our  new  apartment-houses.  A 
young  man,  moving  in  our  best  society,  was  de- 
voured by  a  bloodthirsty  wild  beast  from  Brazil 
in  the  parlor  of  Mrs.  Montague.  It  is  supposed 
that  the  wounds  are  fatal."  Let  in  the  lions,  and, 
like  the  old  gladiators,  I  shall  die  saluting  thee  ! 

Mrs.  Montague. 
I  like   eccentricity   and   originality.     Yours 
might  please  me^  but  not  at  an  hour  like  this — 

Frank. 
I  understand  and  appreciate  your  scruples. 
[  Takes  and  opens  screen.  ]  This  divides  the  room. 
You  remain  at  home,  and  I  remain  at  home.  We 
are  neighbors,  each  in  his  own  house.  I  ask  only 
for  five  minutes  to  explain  the  cause  of  my  return. 

Mrs.  Montague. 
Five  minutes  ?    Well,  will  you  go  after  that  ? 
\Franlc  makes  the  gesture  of  an  oath.]    Well, 
then,  it  is  now  five  minutes  to  twelve — at  mid- 
night you  withdraw.     [Sits.'] 


FRANK  WYLDE.  239 

Frank. 

In  five  minutes  I  shall  have  fulfilled  Paragraph 

Five. 

Mrs.  Montague,  smiling. 

You  know  it,  then  ? 

Frank. 
Yes,  madam.     [Talcing  Ms  casket.]     Here  it 
is !     [Sits.] 

Mrs.  Montague. 
A  box  ? 

Frank. 

"Paragraph  Five:   Burn  my  love-letters  be- 
fore Mrs.  Montague." 

Mrs.  Montague,  taking  note-iooTcfrom  Jierpochet. 
How  did  you  discover  ? 

Frank. 
A  clairvoyant  told  me— on  the  staircase.    Now 
to  business  !     [Takes  letter  from  box.] 

Mrs.  Montague. 
I  scarcely  think  that  I  ought  to — 

Frank. 
It  would  be  neighborly.     [Hands  the  letter  to 
Mrs.  Montague.]     Read!    It  is  very  instructive. 

Mrs.  Montague,  hesitatingly  glancing  at  letter. 
It  begins  with  a  burst  of  passion. 


240         COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

Frakk. 
Is  there  a  postscript  ? 

Mrs.  Montague. 
Yes,  about  a  dress-maker. 

Frank. 
There  is  always  a  P.  S.,  and  generally  a  dress- 
maker.    \^Leans  over.] 

Mrs.  Moktague. 
That's  not  fair  !     You  are  cheating  !     You 
said  :  "  Each  in  his  own  house  ! " 

Frai^k. 
I  am  in  my  own  house — on    the  balcony. 
[Takes  another  letter]  Number  two  ! 

Mrs.  Montague,  taking  it. 
"I  accept  your  invitation  to  superr" — one  p. 
and  two  r's. 

Frank. 

She  has  since  married  a  scene-shifter,  rejoic- 
ing in  the  euphonious  appellation  of  J.  Stubbs 
Smith.     Number  three  ! 

Mrs.  Montague,  talcing  letter. 
Number  three  is  older,  I  should  think. 

Frank. 
Yes,  she  was  a  widow,  grass  widow,  in  weeds. 


FRANK  WYLDE.  241 

and  wanted  me  to  go  without  mine.  I  couldn't 
do  without  smoking,  so  I  did  without  her.  Is 
there  a  P.  S.  ? 

Mes.  Moktague,  turning  leaf. 
Two! 

Fea]^k. 

Of  course.  The  second  is  merely  to  keep  the 
first  company.  And  it  was  not  a  good  year  for 
postscripts  either.  [Strikes  snatch  and  lights 
packet  of  letters.  ] 

Mrs.  Montague. 
What  are  you  doing  ? 

Feank. 
I  have  lighted  the  auto-dafe,     Now  Para- 
graph Five  is  executed.     Mr.  Josiah  Cuttyback's 
day's  work  is  done.     See  it  blaze  !     My  love-let- 
ters have  gone  to  blazes  !    Good  evening,  madam  ! 

Captain,  off  L. 
Thousand  thunders  !    Where  are  my  slippers  ? 

Mes.  Montague,  frightened* 
Heavens !    [Revolver  heard  off  X.] 

Feank. 
It  is  only  your  uncle  calling  for  his  slippers. 

Mes.  Montague. 
Fly! 
16 


242  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR    ACTING. 

Feank. 
Fly  ?    Never  ! 

Mks.  Moktague. 
He  will  kill  you  ! 

Frank. 

You  think  so  ?    All  right !    I  did  not  know 
how  to  end  the  day.     Now  I  am  fixed  ! 

Mrs.  Montague. 
Here  he  comes  !     [Clasping  her  hands]     For 
heaven's  sake,  fly,  sir  !     For  my  sake,  hide  your- 
self ! 

Frank,  suddenly  ins^nred. 
Ah  !  an  idea  !     [Closes  the  screen  around  him 
as  Captain  enters  L.  IE.] 

Captain. 
How's  this  ?    You  are  up  ? 

Mrs.  Montague,  confused. 
Yes,  I — I — couldn't  sleep,  and — and — I  had 
troubled  dreams.     I — I — am  not  at  all  sleepy  ! 

Captain. 
Nor  am  I !    Let's  have  a  cup  of  tea  ! 

Mrs.  Montague,  aside. 
Heaven  help  us  !     [Aloud]  A  cup  of  tea  !    At 
this  hour  of  the  night ! 


FRANK  WYLDE.  243 

Captaik. 
Yes !— Kose  ! 

EosE,  entering  (7. 
Sir? 

CAPTAIi^. 

Make  us  some  tea  ! 

Rose. 

Tea? 

Captain,  shouting. 

Yes,  tea  ! 

Rose,  aside. 

How  did  he  get  out  ?  {Exit  G. 

CaptaiisT,  going  to  screen  and  hnoching. 
I  say,  sir,  will  you  have  a  cup  of  tea  ? 

Frank,  poking  head  over  screen. 
Fd  prefer  chocolate  ! 

Captain,  laughing. 
Ah!    Ah!    Ah! 

Frank,  laughing. 
Ah!    Ah!    Ah! 

Captain. 
Young  man,  I  like  you  ! 

Frank. 
Indeed !     Why    didn't   you    say    so   before  ? 
[Gomes  out  of  screen.']     Ahem!    Sir!    As  the 


244  COMEDIES  FOR  AMATEUR  ACTING. 

custodian  of  your  niece,  to  whom  I  have  ah'eady 
offered  my  hand  and  heart,  I  ask  your  permission 
to  pay  my  ad — 

CAPTAIiq^. 

I  understand,  but  my  niece's  year  of  mourning 
won't  be  over  for  twenty-two  days  yet. 

FRAiq^K. 

We  can  mourn  eleven  each ! 

Captain",  laughing. 
Ah  !     Ah  !     I  really  like  this  boy  !     [Bell 
rings.  ] 

Mrs.  Montague. 

A  visit !  at  this  hour  ! 

KosE,  entering  O, 
It  is  Mr.  Cuttyback. 

Frank. 
Probably  he  has  forgotten  what  time  it  was  ! 

Mrs.  Montague. 
I  don't  want  to  see  him. 

Captain. 
His  arrival  is  opportune — 

Frank. 
Here,  Rose,  give  him  back  his  overcoat — 


FRANK  WYLDE.  245 

Mks.  Montague. 
And  his  note-book ! 

Feank. 
Permit  me.      [Writes  in  note-booh]    ** Para- 
graph Six  :  Don't  bother  Mrs.  Montague  again  ! " 
Here,  Eose,  take  it  to  him  !     [To  Captain]  One 
paragraph  there  refers  to  you. 

Captain. 
What  is  it  ? 

Feank. 
I'll  tell  you  some  day — when  we're  married. 
[TaJces  Mrs.   Montague's  hand.      Clock  strikes 
twelve.  ] 

[Cuetain.] 


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